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Book ^C& 



CENTURY READINGS 

FOR A COURSE IN 

ENGLISH LITERATURE 



(PcCtlh 



TOnif otm mitb UbiS 



STUDENTS' HANDBOOK 

OF THE FACTS OF 

ENGLISH LITERATURE 

BV 

J. F. A. PYRE, Ph.D. 

THOMAS H. DICKINSON, Ph.D. 

KARL YOUNG, Ph.D. 

OF the university of WISCONSIN 

PRICE 75 CENTS 



CENTURY READINGS 

FOR A COURSE IN 

ENGLISH LITERATURE 



JEUITED AND ANNOTATED BY 

J, W. CUNLIFFE, D.LiT. 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH AND ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR OF 
THE SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 

J. F. A. PYRE, Ph.D. 
KARL YOUNG, Ph.D. 

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN 




NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO, 



p* 



IQI! 



ao^ 



^\' 

.^V' 



Copyright, 1910, 1918, by 
The Century Co. 

Published, August, 1910 
Second Edition, May, 1918 



PREFATORY NOTE 

Century Readings was compiled to meet the needs of students in the general and com- 
prehensive course in English literature now offered in most American colleges. Since the 
book is the result of some years of experience with such a course in the University of 
Wisconsin, the contents may best be explained by reference to the practice of that institution. 

The course entitled General Survey of English Literature occupies three class periods 
a week. During two of these periods the students meet in small groups, of about twerty 
persons each, for the intimate discussion of a piece of literature previously assigned for 
study. At the third meeting, four or five such groups join to attend a lecture treating 
the relevant period of English literature. 

Most of the pieces assigned for study are found in Century Readings. The editors 
have tried, in general, to provide selections that are complete in themselves. The book 
undertakes not to supply short passages from all English writers, but rather to offer 
significant and substantial examples of the work of the more important authors. Plays and 
novels, however, although several appear among the assignments of the course, are iioi 
included in this book, for it is thought that these can be effectively studied only as wholes, 
and the inclusion of them would have extended the present compilation unduly. 

The lectures undertake to explain the relation of the particular works studied to the 
complete achievements of the authors, and to the proper periods of literary history. This 
undertaking is made possible through each student's having before him in the lecture-room 
the Student's Handbook of the Facts of English Literature, issued by the same pub- 
lishers, — a brief manual containing merely the unembellished facts of literary history and 
biography arranged in tabular form. These tables serve the double purpose of conveying 
names and dates in an accurate and orderly form, and of leaving the lecturer free for his 
proper function of literary and historical interpretation. 

No effort has been spared to secure the accuracy of the texts presented. Unless there 
were cogent reasons for preserving the original spelling and punctuation, modern usage has 
been followed. Omissions are indicated by asterisks ; changes or insertions, by square 
brackets. Only the author's original notes are given at the foot of the page. 

The editors are indebted to numerous predecessors for help both in determining the 
various texts and in elucidating them. They wish particularly to acknowledge their obliga- 
tions to the Houghton Mifflin Company and Professor R. E. N. Dodge for permission 
to use the latter's Cambridge edition of Spenser. Thanks are offered also to other colleagues 
for kindly interest in the undertaking and for assistance in proofreading. 

The revised edition contains in the selections added from the works of recent authors 
a large amount of copyright material for the use of which the editors are greatly indebted 
to the publishers and authors concerned. They wish, in particular, to make the following 
acknowledgments : 

D. Appleton & Co., for " Emancipation : Black and White " by T. H. Huxley. 
Brentano's, for " The Case for the Critic-Dramatist " by George Bernard Shaw. 
Lord Burghclere, for "Aftermath." 

Country Life, for " The Defenders " by John Drinkwater ; " The Wykhamist " by Nora 
Griffiths ; and " Canadians " by W. H. Ogilvie. 

Cambridge University Press, for " All the Hills and Vales Along " by Charles Hamilton 
Sorley. 

Duffield & Co.. for " The Death of Ailill " by Francis Ledwidge. 

E. P. Dutton & Co., for " The Spires of Oxford " by Winifred M. Letts. 



PREFATORY NOTE 



The Fortnightly Review, for " The First Battle of Ypres " by Margaret L. Woods. 

Harper & Bros., for *' With the Marseilles Pilots " by Joseph Conrad, and " The Con- 
temporary Novel " by H. G. Wells. , 

The Harrovian, for " A Harrow Grave in Flanders " by Lord Crewe. 

Henry Holt & Co., for " All that's Past " and " Miss Loo " by Walter de la Mare. 

Houghton Mifflin Co., for " For the Fallen " by Laurence Binyon. 

Mitchell Kennerley, for selections from " The Note Books " by Samuel Butler, and 
"The South Country" by Hilaire Belloc. 

John Lane Co., for " The Old Village, Grantchester " and " The Soldier " by Rupert 
Brooke; "The Return of the Barbarian" and "The Wife of Flanders" by G. K. Chester- 
ton ; " Thirty Bob a Week " by John Davidson ; " A Shropshire Lad " by A. E. Housitian-; 
"Clifton Chapel," "Drake's Drum" and " Vitai Lampada" by Sir Henry Newbolt; "Re- 
venge for Rheims " by Stephen Phillips ; " Wordsworth's Grave " by Sir William Watson. 

The Macmillan Co., for " The Earth Breath " by " A. E." ; " His Father," " The Ques- 
tion," and "Rafning" by Wilfred Wilson Gibson; "The Island of Skyros " and "Sea- 
Fever " by John Masefield ; " Into the Twilight," " The Lake Isle of Innisf ree," " Red Han- 
rahan's Song about Ireland," and " Song from the Land of Heart's Desire," by William 
Butler Yeats. 

The Poetry Review, for " The Airman " by Gregg Goddard. 

G. P. Putnam's Sons, for " Soldier, Soldier " by Maurice Hewlett. 

Grant Richard's, for " Socks " by Jessie Pope. 

Chas. Scribner's Sons, for " The Lost Dog " by John Galsworthy ; " Parted," " The Lady 
Poverty," and "The Shepherdess," by Alice Meynell. 

Sidgwick & Jackson, for " A Legend of Ypres " by Elinor Jenkins ; " Form Fours " by 
Frank Sidgwick, and " A Girl's Song " by Katharine Tynan. 

The Spectator, for " Master and Pupil " by O. M., and " England's Dead " by Frank 
Taylor. 

Fred. A. Stokes, for " Kilmeny," " The Search-Lights " and " Wireless " by Alfred Noyes. 

The Westminster Gazette, for " Many Sisters to Many Brothers " by Rose Macaulay, 
and " Non-Combatant " by Cicely Hamilton. 

The London Times, for " How Sleep the Brave " by Walter de la Mare ; " Into Battle " 
by Julian Grenf ell ; " The Old Way " by Ronald A. Hopwood ; and " Sailor, What of the 
Debt We Owe You?" by Viscount Stuart. 



CONTENTS 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER (c. I34O-I4OO) . . ^^^^ 

The Canterbury Tales: The Prologue' .' .' .' '. [ [ ] " ." .'.[[] 4 

The Nun's Priest's Tale 12 

SIR THOMAS MALORY (c. I4OO-I471) . . ••...- 

Le Morte D'Arthur ^^ 

The Nut-Brown Maid (c. 1500) ..." ^^ 

English and Scottish Popular Ballads ..'.'. ^i 

Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne '...., « ,0 

Robin Hood's Death and Burial % 

The Battle of Otterburn '.'.'.'.'.'.'. 11. 

Captain Car or Edom o Gordon »->, . 1- 

The Wife of Usher's Well .....'.]'.['..]',['''' Jr 

Kemp Owyne % 

The Daemon Lover ■;« 

Lord Randal .- . . : .'.'.".".".■ ." ."!.*'' " Iq. 

Sir Patrick" Spens ..'.....' 40 

Thomas Rymer .".".".''' '^o 

Bonny Barbara Allan ..."..'.' ^1 

The Twa Sisters li 

The Cruel Brother ....'..'. C2 

Edward c? 

SIR THOMAS WYATT (lS03?-IS42) e^ 

The Lover for Shame-Fastness, etc . '. . 54 

The Lover Compareth his State to a Ship . . '. 54 

The Lover having dreamed of Enjoying of his Love [ ] C4 

A Renouncing of Love ,' ] ce 

The Lover Beseecheth his Mistress not to Forget * ce 

An Earnest Suit to his Unkind Mistress .......' 55 

The Lover Complaineth the Unkindness of his Love 1:5 

Of the Mean and Sure Estate - ] 56 

HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY (l5I7?-I574) eg 

Description of Spring eg 

Complaint of a Lover Rebuked ^g 

Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine eg 

Complaint of the Lover Disdained 5^ 

A Complaint by Night of the Lover not Beloved 59 

Vow to Love Faithfully gg 

Complaint of the Absence of Her Lover 5g 

A Praise of his Love ^ . . . . 60 

Description of the Restless State of a Lover 60 

The Means to Attain Happy Life 61 

Of the Death of Sir T[homas] W[yatt] ( s. 

Virgil's ^neid. Book II t'X 

THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST (IS36-1608) ■ 6,J 

The Induction 63 

ROGER ASCHAM (1SI5-I568) -ji 

The Schoolmaster, Book I 71 

JOHN LYLY (l5S4?-l6o6) yQ 

Euphues and his England 76 

Apelles' Song „ 80 



CONTENTS 




PAGE 

Spring's Welcome go 

Sappho's Song °o 

Song (From Gallathea) 80 

IR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-I586) •• 81 

An Apology for Poetry oi 

Astrophel and Stella - °7 

Song: The Nightingale 90 

Love is Dead 90 

Dorus to Pamela 90 

A Ditty 90 

I^akluyt's Voyages 9^ 

Dedicatory Epistle 9i 

■ The Last Fight of the Revenge .... 92 

Linchoten's Testimony . 95 

The Loss of Sir Humprey Gilbert 95 

A Report of Virginia . 98 

Raleigh's Discovery of Guiana 98 

Sir Francis Drake at San Domingo 100 

Drake in California i<^i 

EDMUND SPENSER (l5S2-I599) . . . . _ IO4 

The Shepheardes Calendar. Fcbruarie 104 

October 107 

The Faerie Queene, Canto I 109 

Canto II 117 

Amoretti • • • 123 

Epithalamion 125 

Prothalamion 130 

Llizabethan Lyrics I33 

GEORGE GASCOIGNE (l525?-I577) 

A Strange Passion of a Lover . . . . . . . 133 

SIR EDWARD DYER (lSSO?-l6o7) . 

My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is I34 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH (lS52?-l6l8) 

The Silent Lover 134 

His Pilgrimage 134 

A Vision upon this Conceit of the Faery Queen 135 

The Conclusion 135 

GEORGE PEELE (l558?-I597 ?) 

Song from The Arraignment of Paris 135 

Harvestmen A-Singing - . . . 136 

ROBERT GREENE (lS6o?-l592) 

Song from The Farewell to Folly 136 

Philomela's Ode 136 

Song from Menaphon ^ 136 

Song from Menaphon 137 

The Shepherd's Wife's Song 137 

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (l56l?-I595) 

The Burning Babe .138 

SAMUEL DANIEL (1562-1619) 

Sonnets from Delia . . ' . 138 

MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631) 

Sonnets from Idea 139 

To the Virginian Voyage .140 

To the Cambro-Britons and their Harp .141 

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE ( 1 564-1593) 

Hero and Leander, The First Sestiad 142 

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE (1564-1616) 

Venus and Adonis 145 

Sonnets , 150 

Songs from the Plays 155 



CONTENTS 



PAC|,E 

England's Helicon (1600) 

Phyllida and Corydon jry 

As It Fell upon a Day . . . ! iS? 

To Colin Clout '. i^y 

Happy Shepherds, Sit and See ! ! 158 

The Shepherd's Commendation of his Nymph i'c;8 

The Herdman's Happy Life 159 

A Nymph's Disdain of Love 150 

Rosalind's Madrigal 159 

Seventeenth Century Lyrics -. . i|6o 

THOMAS CAMPION (d. 1619) 

Chance and Change ino 

Basia i((> 

A Renunciation i(.u 

Sic Transit 16; 

BEN jONSON (i573?-i637) 

Song to Celia 161: 

Song: To Celia 161 

To Heaven 161 

The Triumph of Charis 162 

An Epitaph on Salathiel Pavy 162 

Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H JO2 

To the Memory of My Beloved, Master William Shakspere 162 

A Pindaric Ode 163 

JOHN DONNE (1573-1631) 

Song (' Go and catch a falling star,') 1165 

The Indifferent '165' 

The Canonization 166 

The Dream 166 

Love's Deity 166 

The Funeral ,167 

The Computation [167 . 

Forget 167 

Death 167 

A Hymn to God the Father 168 

JOHN FLETCHER (1S79-1625) 

Love's Emblems ,i68 

Melancholy •. ■ •, "-^ ^'^ 

Song to Bacchus .^ i68 

Beauty Clear and Fair . 169 

Weep No More (69 

Aspatia's Song 69 

FRANCIS BEAUMONT (IS84-1616) 

On the Life of Man 69 

Lines on the Tombs in Westminster 169 

GEORGE WITHER (1588-I667) 

The Lover's Resolution ,169 

When We are upon the Seas 170 

The Prayer of Old Age 170 

WILLIAM BROWNE (159I-1643) 

Britannia's Pastorals, Book II, Song I I7*3 

Book II, Song V ^71 

On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke 17.J 

EGBERT HERRICK (159I-1674) 

Corinna's Going A-Maying '172 

Upon Julia's Clothes 173 

To the Virgins i,73 

To Daffodils ^73 

To Music '73. 

An Ode for Ben Jonson 174 

A Thanksgiving to God for his House 174 




CONTENTS 



PAGE 



Grace for a Child i74 

His Prayer for Absolution I75 

GEORGE HERBERT (lS93-l633) 

Virtue ^75 

Love ^75 

The Collar . • I7S 

The Quip ^75 

The World ^70 

The Pulley • i7o 

THOMAS CAREW (i598?-i639?) ^ 

Song (' Ask me no more ')..... i7o 

Song ('Would you know what's soft?') . ■ I77 

The Protestation ^77 

Persuasions to Joy: A Song • I77 

Ingrateful Beauty Threatened I77 

An Epitaph ^77 

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT (1606-1668) 

Song ('The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,') 170 

Praise and Prayer . , ., • 178 

EDMUND WALLER (1606-1687) 

The Story of Phoebus and Daphne Applied 178 

To Phyllis 178 

On a Girdle 178 

Go, Lovely Rose! I79 

SIR JOHN SUCKLING (1609-1622) 

A Doubt of Martyrdom I79 

The Constant Lover I79 

Why so Pale and Wan? 179 

RICHARD CRASHAW (l6l3?-l649) 

In the Holy Nativity of our Lord God 180 

SIR JOHN DENHAM (161S-1669) ... 

Cooper's Hill l8l 

On Mr. Abraham Cowley's Death and Burial 182 s 

RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658) 

To Lucasta, Going to the Wars 182 

To Althea, From Prison 182 

The Rose 183 

To Lucasta 183 

ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1677) 

The Swallow • 183 

The Wish 183 

ANDREW MARVEL (162I-1678) 

The Garden 184 

To his Coy Mistress 185 

HENRY VAUGHAN (1622-169S) 

The Retreat 185 

The World 185 

Departed Friends 186 

?RANCIS BACON (1561-1626) 187 . 

Essays: I — Of Truth 187 

V — Of Adversity i88 

VH — Of Parents and Children 189 

Vni — Of Marriage and Single Life 189 

X — Of Love 190 

XH — Of Boldness 191 

XVH — Of Superstition 192 

XXHI — Of Wisdom for a Man's Self 192 

XXV — Of Dispatch 193 

XXVI — Of Seeming Wise 194 

XXVIII — Of Expens^i 194 

XXXII — Of Discourse , 195 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

XXXIV — Of Riches 196 

XLII — Of Youth and Age I97 

XLVII — Of Negotiatmg 198 

L — Of Studies I99 

SIR THOMAS BROWNE (1605-1682) 20O 

Religio Medici 200 

Hydriotaphia, Urnburial 209 

ISAAK WALTON (1593-1683) ^ . . . 212 

The Complete Angler 212 

THOMAS FULLER (1608-1661) 21/ 

The Life of Sir Francis Drake 217 

JEREMY TAYLOR (1613-1667) 221 

The Faith and Patience of the Saints 221 

JOHN BUNYAN (1628-1688) 22$ 

The Pilgrim's Progress 225 

JOHN MILTON (1608-1674) 236 

On Shakspere 236 

L'AlIegro 237 

II Penseroso 238 

Lycidas "... 240 

Sonnets: When the Assault Was Intended to the City 242 

To a Virtuous Young Lady • . 242 

On the Detraction which followed upon my Writing Certain Treatises . 242 

On the Same 243 

To the Lord General Cromwell, May, 1652 243 

On the Late Massacre in Piedmont 243 

On his Blindness 243 

To Cyriack Skinner 244 

On his Deceased Wife 244 

Paradise Lost, Book I 244 

Book II " 254 

Areopagitica 260 

JOHN DRYDEN (163I-I700) 266 

Heroic Stanzas 266 

Astraea Redux 267 

Absalom and Achitophel 268 

The Hind and the Panther 270 

Alexander's Feast, or The Power of ]\Iusic 274 

An Essay of Dramatic Poesy 276 

DANIEL DEFOE (1661-I731) 286 

The True Born Englishman 28^. 

The Shortest Way with the Dissenters 287 

Preface to the Review 294 

The Education of Women 297 

JONATHAN SWIFT (1667-I745) 299 

A Tale of a Tub 299 

A Meditation upon a Broomstick 318 

A Modest Proposal 3^9 

SIR RICHARD STEELE (1672-I729) 324 

The Tatler: The Advertisement 324 

A Recollection 325 

The Spectator: The Club 326 

Sir Roger on Men of Parts 328 

Sir Roger in Love 330 

A Day in London 332 

JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-I719) 335 

The Spectator: The Spectator Introduces Llimself -. . . . 335 

A Country Sunday 337 

Sir Roger at the Assizes 339 

Town and Country 340 

Sir Roger at the Play 342 

The Death of Sir Roger 343 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Party Patches ^^e 

Detraction Among Poets ] 346 

Westminster Abbey ' -,.g 

ALEXANDER POPE (1688-I744) ogo 

An Essay on Criticism ^^o 

The Rape of the Lock ' ,c8 

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot [ _' 353 

JAMES THOMSON (170O-I748) o^g 

Summer ogg 

Autumn - " ^yo 

Winter ^^j 

A Hymn ^72 

The Castle of Indolence -^y^ 

Minor Poets — Young to Chatterton 376 

EDWARD YOUNG (1681-I765) 

Night Thoughts 377 

JOHN GAY (1685-1732) 

The Shepherd's Week 378 

ROBERT BLAIR (1699-I746) 

The Grave 380 

JOHN DYER (170O-I758) 

Grongar Hill 381 

WILLIAM SHENSTONE (1714-I763) 

The Schoolmistress 382 

MARK AKENSIDE (172I-I770) 

Pleasures of the Imagination ... 1 385 

WILLIAM COLLINS (172I-I759) 

Ode ('How sleep the brave') 386 

Ode to Evening 386 

Ode to Simplicity 387 

The Passions 387 

A Song from Shakspere's Cynibeline . . . . , 389 

THOMAS WARTON (1728-1790) 

The Grave of King Arthur 389 

Sonnets : Dugdale's Monasticon 7 . . . 390 

At Stonehcnge 390 

THOMAS CHATTERTON (1752-1770) 

Bristowe Tragedie 300 

Mynstrelles Songe , 395 

THOMAS GRAY (1716-I771) 396 

Sonnet on the Death of Mr. Richard West 396 

On Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College 396 

Hymn to Adversity 397 

Elegy Written in a Coiuitry Churchyard 398 

The Progress of Poesy 400 

The Bard ^ 402 

The Fatal Sisters 403 

SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-I784) 405 

The Life of Addison 405 

Letters : To the Earl of Chesterfield 420 

To James Macpherson 420 

To the Reverend Dr. Taylor 420 

The Vanity of Human Wishes 421 

JAMES BOSWELL (174O-179S) 423 

The Life ofjohnson 423 

EDMUND BURKE (1729-1797) 443 

The Speech for Conciliation with the Colonies 443 

EDWARD GIBBON (i737-i794) 453 

The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire 453 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1728-I774) 4^3 

Song (' When lovely woman ') 463 

The Deserted Village 463 

The Retaliation 469 

WILLIAM COWPER (173I-1800) 47^ 

Walking with God 470 

Table Talk 47i 

The Task, Book IV 47i 

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture 477 

Sonnet to Mrs. Unwin 479 

On the Loss of the Royal George 479 

GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) . 480 

The Village, Book I 480 

WILLIAM BLAKE (17S7-1827) . 485 

To Spring 485 

To the Aluses 486 

Mad Song . \ 486 

The Piper 486 

The Shepherd 486 

The Little Black Boy 486 

Cradle Song from Songs of Innocence 487 

Cradle Song from Songs of Experience 487 

A Dream 487 

The Divme Image 488 

The Chmmey Sweeper 488 

The Clod and the Pebble 488 

The Tiger 488 

Ah Sunflower 489 

Nurse's Song 489 

A Little Boy Lost .489 

From Milton ('And did those feet in ancient time') 489 

ROBERT RURNS (i759-i796) 490 

Song: Mary Morison 490 

Song : My Nanie, O 491 

Song: Green Grow the Rashes 491 

Lines to John Lapraik 491 

To a Mouse 492 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 492 

Address to the Deil 495 

A Bard's Epitaph 496 

Of A' The Airts the Wind Can Blow 497 

Go Fetch to Me a Pint o' Wine 497 

Auld Lang Syne 497 

John Anderson My Jo 497 ' 

Tarn Glen 497 

To Mary in Heaven 4q8 

Tam O'Shanter 498 

Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut , , 500 

A Winter Night 500 

Highland Mary 501 

Bonie Doon cqj 

Duncan Gray ^01 

Scots VVha Hae 502 

A Man 's A Man for A' That !.'.'! 502 

APPENDIX 

Beowulf i 

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight xxxiv • 

Notes Ivii 

Index of Authors 

Index of First Lines , 

PI 



CENTURY READINGS FOR A COURSE IN 
ENGLISH LITERATURE 



CENTURY READINGS FOR A COURSE 
IN ENGLISH LITERATURE 

V 

GEOFFREY CHAUCER (c. 1340-1400) 

Since Chaucer's father, John Chaucer, was not only a successful London vintner, but also, 
probably, an occasional servant of the king, it is not surprising that at an early age our poet 
himself entered the service of royalty. Our earliest records concerning him show that in April, 
1357, he was occupied, perhaps as page, in the household of Elizabeth, wife of Prince Lionel, 
son of Edward III, where he continued to serve throughout that year and probably into the 
next. During this service, Chaucer accompanied ^the princess to Hatfield, in Yorkshire, to 
London, and probably to other parts of England. * We surmise that he witnessed more than 
one brilliant chivalric entertainment, and that at Hatfield, during Christmastide of 1357, he 
met his future friend and patron, John of Gaunt. During the year 1359, Chaucer served as 
a soldier in the army of Edward III, in France. Having been taken prisoner, not far from 
Reims, he was released through a ransom to which the king himself contributed the substantial 
sum of sixteen pounds. After the conclusion of this expedition, with the Peace of Bretigny, 
May 8, 1360, Chaucer returned to England, where he seems to have increased in favor at 
court, for in 1367 he was granted a life pension of twenty marks as a valet of the king. Dur- 
ing the next ten or fifteen years, Chaucer took part in a considerable number of diplomatic 
missions to the Continent, of which the most important, from a literary point of view, are 
a secret embassy to Genoa and Florence (Dec, 1372, to April, 1373), and a mission to JNIjlan 
(May to September, 1378). Although Petrarch and Boccaccio were both living at the time 
of Chaucer's first visit to Italy, we have no evidence that the English poet met either of them. 
To these Italian journeys, however, may be due Chaucer's subsequent devotion to Italian 
literature. Aside from his diplomatic employment, the poet had official duties at home in 
connection with the customs of the port of London. In 1374 he was appointed comptroller 
of the customs and subsidy of wools, skins, and tanned hides, and in 1382 he received the 
additional appointment of comptroller of the petty customs. In the autumn of 1386, Chaucer 
sat for a short time in parliament as a knight of the shire for Kent. In the political eclipse 
of Richard, from the latter part of 1386 to 1389, Chaucer lost his offices, a loss that left him, 
presumably, much leisure for writing. During this period he may have written a considerable 
part of The Canterbury Tales. In 1389, Chaucer was again in the service of the government 
as clerk of the king's works, and although the loss of thi^«kDointment, in 1391, left him in 
straitened circumstances, a royal pension of twenty pounds,^Hl394, and a yearly gift of a tun 
of wine, in 1398, contributed somewhat toward his comfort, ^^en Henry IV, son of Chaucer's 
old patron, John of Gaunt, came to the throne in 1399, the poet promptly addressed to him a 
ballade entitled The Compleynt of Chaucer to his Empty Purse. To this pleasant bit of beg- 
ging the king responded readily with a pension of forty marks, in addition to the annuity of 
twenty pounds that had been granted in 1394. Chaucer spent his last days, then, in compara- 
tive comfort, and on his death, October 25, 1400, he was buried in the south transept of West- 
minster Abbey, which has since become the ' Poets' Corner.' 

Although the exact chronology of Chaucer's works is far from certain, the literary influences 
under which he wrote are clearly defined. As a courtier, diplomat, and man of the world, he 
was familiar with literary fashions at home and abroad, — literary fashions definitely embodied 
in his works. His first poems are imitations or translations of French poems popular at court 
both in France and in England. To an early stage of his career is assigned his translation 
of at least part of the Roman de la Rose, a French poem composed during the thirteenth cen- 
tury and popular in the fourteenth. French in style is The Book of the Duchefts. written in 
1369 as a lament for the death of Blanche, wife of John of Gaunt. Upon French models 
Chaucer composed his early poem, A. B. C. and numerous shorter poems 'that highten balades, 
roundels, virelayes.' Tlie Parliament of Fowls, wriiten, probably, in 1382, in lionor of the 

3 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



marriage of Richard II and Anne of Bohemia, is conspicuously influenced by French poetical 
taste. During his journeys to Italy, or before, Chaucer acquired a new source of literary 
inspiration in the works of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. Although from Dante and Petrarch 
his literal borrowings are few, his extensive verbal obligations to Boccaccio are shown in Troilus 
and Criseyde, written about 1383, and in the Knighfs Tale. The House of Fame, written, 
perhaps, about 1379, clearly shows the influence of Dante, as well as of French allegorical 
poetry. To the last fifteen years or so of Chaucer's life, without specification, may be assigned 
the Legend of Good Women and the Canterbury Tales. Although in these works Chaucer 
used a multiplicity of sources, the poems themselves show vigorous increase in English spirit 
and in literary originality. 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



THE PROLOGUE 

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote 
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the 

roote, 
And bathed every veyne in swich licour, 
Of which vertu engendred is the flour; 
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth . s 
Inspired hath in every holt and heetli 
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne 
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, 
And smale fowles maken melodye, 
That slepen al the night with open ye, 1° 
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages) : 
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, 
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, 
To feme halwes, couthe in sondry londes; 
And specially, from every shires ende is 

Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, 
The holy blisful martir for to seke, 
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were 
seke. 

Bifel that, in that sesoun on a day, 
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay 20 

Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage 
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, 
At night was come in-to that hostelrye 
Wei nyne and twenty in a conJJ^nye, 
Of sondry folk, by aventure J^^P^ ^5 

In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle, 
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; 
The chambres and the stables weren wyde, 
And wel we weren esed atte beste. 
And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, 30 
So hadde I spoken with hem everichon, 
That I was of hir felawshipe anon, 
And made forward erly for to ryse, 
To take our wey, ther as I yow devyse. 

But natheles, whyl I have tyme and spac^ 
Er that I ferther in this tale pace, 36 

Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun, 
To telle yow al the condicioun 
Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, 39 

And whiche they weren, and of what degree ; 
And 'eefe in what ^i-'^y' that they were inne : 



And at a knight than wol I first biginne. 
A Knight ther was, and that a worthy 

man, 
That fro the tyme that he first bigan 
To ryden out, he loved chivalrye, 45 

Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisye. 
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, 
And thereto hadde he riden (no man ferre) 
As wel in cristendom as hethenesse. 
And evere honoured for his worthinesse. so 
At Alisaundre he was, whan it was wonne; 
Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne 
Aboven alle naciouns in Pruce. 
In Lettow hadde he reysed and in Ruce, 
No cristen man so ofte of his degree. 55 

In Gernade at the sege eek hadde he be 
Of Algezir, and riden in Belmarye. 
At Lyeys was he, and at Satalye, 
Whan they were wonne ; and in the Grete 

See 
At many a noble aryve- hadde he be. 60 

At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene, 
And foughten for our feith at Tramissene 
In listes thryes, and ay slayn his foo. 
This ilke worthy knight hadde been also 
Somtyme with the lord of Palatye, 65 

Ageyn another hethen in Turkye: / , 
And everemore he hadde a sovereyn 'prys. 
And though that he were worthy, he was 

wys, 
And of his port as meek as is a mayde. 
He nevere yet no vileinye ne sayde 7° 

In al his lyf, un-to no maner wight. 
He was a verray parfit gentil knight. 
But for to tellen yow of his array. 
His hors were goode, but he was nat gay. 
Of fu,§tian, he wered a gipoun , 75 

Al bfspiotered with his habergeotin. 
For he was late y-come from his viage, 
And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. 
With him ther was his sone, a yong 

Squyer, 
A lovyer, and a lusty bacheler, 80 

With lokkes crulle, as they were leyd in 

presse. 



.'■^ 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



Of twenty yeer of age he was, I gesse. 
Of his stature he was of evene lengthe, 
And wonderly delivere, and greet of 

strengthe. 
And he hadde been somtyme in chivachye, 8s 
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and Picardye, 
And born him wel, as of so Utel space. 
In hope to stonden in his lady grace. 
Embrouded was he, as it were a mede 
AI fill of fresshe floures, whyte and rede. 9° 
Singinge he was, or floytinge, al the day; 
He was as fresh as is the month of May. 
Short was his goune, with sieves longe and 

wyde. 
Wel coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde. 
He coude songes make and wel endyt.e,-\ -''^s' 
luste and eek daunce, and wel purA'dye and 

wryte. 
So hote he lovede, that by nightertale 
He sleep namore than doth a nightingale. 
Curteys he was, lowly, and servisable, 
And carf biforn his fader at the table. loo 

A Yeman hadde he, and servaunts namo 
At that tyme, for him liste ryde so; 
And he was clad in cote and hood of grene; 
A sheef of pecok arwes brighte and kene 
Under his belt he bar ful thriftily, los 

(Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly: 
His arwes drouped noght with fetheres 

lowe), 
And in his hand he bar a mighty bowe. 
A not-heed hadde he, with a broun visage. 
Of wode-craft wel coude he al the usage, no 
Upon his arm he bar a gay bracer. 
And by his syde a swerd and a bokeler, 
And on that other syde a gay daggere, 
Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere ; 
A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene. "S 
An horn he bar, the bawdrik was. of grene; 
A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse. 

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, 
That of hir smyling was ful simple and coy ; 
Hir gretteste ooth was but by seynt Loy; 120 
And she was cleped madame Eglentyne. 
Ful wel she song the service divyne, 
Entuned in hir nose ful semely; 
And Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly. 
After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, 125 
For Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe. 
At mete wel y-taught was she with-alle ; 
She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, 
Ne wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe. 
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe, 
That no drope ne fille up-on hir brest. 131 
In curteisye was set ful moche hir lest. 
Hir over lippe wyped she so clene. 
That in hir coppe was no ferthing sene 



Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir 

draughte. 13s 

Ful semely after hir mete she raughte, 
And sikerly she was of greet disport. 
And ful plesaunt, and amiable of port. 
And peyned hir to countrefete chere 
Of court, and been estatlich of manere, 140 
And to ben holden digne of reverence. 
But, for to speken of hir conscience, 
She was so charitable and so pitous. 
She wolde wepe, if that she sawe a mous 
Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. 
Of smale houndes had she, that she fedde 146 
With rosted flesh, or milk and wastel breed. 
But sore weep she if oon of hem were deed. 
Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte : 
And al was conscience and tendre herte. iso 
Ful semely hir wimpel pinched was; 
Hir nose tretys ; hir eyen greye as glas ; 
Hir mouth ful smal, and ther-to softe and 

reed; 
But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed. 
It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe; iSS 
For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe. 
Ful fetis was hir cloke, as I was war. 
Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar 
A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene; 
And ther-on heng a broclie of gold ful shene, 
On which ther was first write a crowned A, 
And after. Amor vincit omnia. 162 

Another Nonne with hir hadde she. 
That was hir chapeleyne, and Preestes thre. 
A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrye, 
An out-rydere, that lovede venerye; 166 

A manly man, to been an abbot able. 
Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable : 
And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel 

here 
Ginglen in a whistling wynd as clere, 170 
And eek as loude as doth the chapel-belle, 
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle. 
The reule^^|eint Maure or of seint Beneit, 
By-cause^^^»was old and som-del streit, 
This ilkeTJi^^Ieet olde thinges pace, 17s 
And held after the newe world the space. 
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen. 
That seith, that hunters been nat holy men ; 
Ne that 'a monk, whan he is cloisterlees. 
Is likned til a fish that is waterlees; 180 

This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre. 
But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre. 
And I seyde his opinioun was good. 
HVhat sholde he studie, and make him-selven 

Vi'ood, 
Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure, 185 
Or swinken with his handes, and laboure, 
As Austin bit? How shal the world be 

served ? 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved. 
Therfor he was a pricasour aright; 
Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in 

flight ; 
Of priking and of hunting for the hare 191 
Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare. 
I seigh his sieves purfiled at the hond 
With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond ; 
And, for to festne his hood under his chin, 
He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin : 
A love-knot in the gretter ende ther was. 197 
His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas. 
And eek his face, as he hadde been anoint. 
He was a lord ful fat and in good point ; 200 
His eyen stepe, and roUinge in his heed, 
That stemed as a f orneys of a leed ; 
His botes souple, his hors in greet estat. 
Now certeinly he was a fair prelat; 
He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost. ^05 
A fat swan loved he best of any roost. 
His palfrey was as broun as is a berye. 

A Frere ther was, a wantown and a merye, 
A limitour, a ful solempne man. 
In alle the ordres foure is noon that can 21° 
So moche of daliaunce and fair langage. 
He hadde maad ful many a mariage 
Of yonge wommen, at his owne cost. 
Un-to his ordre he was a noble post. 
Ful wel biloved and famulier was he 215 

With frankeleyns over-al in his contree. 
And eek with worthy wommen of the toun : 
For he had power of confessioun, 
As seyde him-self, more than a curat, 
For of his ordre he was Hcentiat. 220 

Ful swetely herde he confessioun, 
And plesaunt was his absolucioun; 
He was an esy man to yeve penaunce 
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitaunce ; 
For unto a povre ordre for to yive 225 

Is signe that a man is wel y-shrive. 
For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt, 
He wiste that a man was rep^jB^nt. 
For many a man so hard isl^^^^Jherte, 
He may nat wepe al-thogh hWtmre smerte. 
Therfore, in stede of weping and preyeres, 
Men moot yeve silver to the povre freres. 232 
His tipet was ay farsed ful of knyves 
And pinnes, for to yeven faire wyves. 
And certeinly he hadde a mery note; 235 
Wel coude he singe and pleyen on a rote. 
Of yeddinges he bar utterly the prys. 
His nekke whyt was as the flour-de-lys. 
There-to he strong was as a champioun. ^ 
He knew the tavernes wel in every toun, 240 
And everich hostiler and tappestere 
Bet than a lazar or a beggestere ; 
For un-to swich a worthy man as he 
Acorded nat, as by his facultee, 



To have with seke lazars aqueyntaunce. 24s 
It is nat honest, it may nat avaunce 
For to delen with no swich poraille, 
But al with riche and sellers of vitaille. 
And over-al, ther as profit sholde aryse, 
Curteys he was, and lowly of servyse. 250 
Ther nas no man nowher so vertuous. 
He was the beste beggere in his hous ; 
For thogh a widwe hadde noght a sho. 
So plesaunt was his In principio, 
Yet wolde he have a ferthing, er he wente 
His purclias was wel bettre than his rente. 256 
And rage he coude as it were right a whelpe. 
In love-dayes ther coude he mochel helpe. 
For ther he was nat lyk a cloisterer. 
With a thredbare cope, as is a povre scoler, 
But he was lyk a maister or a pope. 261 

Of double worsted was his semi-cope. 
That rounded as a belle out of the presse. 
Somwhat he lipsed, for his wantownesse, 
To make his English swete up-on his tonge ; 
And in his harping, whan that he had songe, 
His eyen twinkled in his heed aright, 267 
As doon the sterres in the frosty night. 
This worthy limitour was cleped Huberd. 

A Marchant was ther with a forked herd. 
In mottelee, and hye on horse he sat, 271 
Up-on his heed a Flaundrish bever hat; 
His botes clasped faire and fetisly. 
His resons he spak ful solempnely, 
Sowninge alway thencrees of his winning. 27s 
He wolde the see were kept for any thing 
Bitwixe Middelburgh and Orewelle. 
Wel coude he in eschaunge sheeldes selle. 
This worthy man ful wel his wit bisette ; 
Ther wiste no wight that he was in dette, 280 
So estatly was he of his governaunce, 
With his bargaynes, andwith his chevisaunce. 
For sothe he was a worthy man with-alle. 
But sooth to seyn, I noot how men him calle. 

A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also, 285 
That un-to logik hadde longe y-go. 
As lene was his hors as is a rake, 
And he nas nat right fat, I undertake ; 
But loked holwe, and ther-to soberly. 
Ful thredbar was his overest cjourtepy; 290 
For he had geten him yet no benefice, 
Ne was so worldly for to have office. 
For him was levere have at his beddes heed 
Twenty bokes, clad in blak or reed 
Of Aristotle and his philosophye, 295 

Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye. 
But al be that he was a philosophre, 
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; 
But al that he mighte of his frendes hente, 
On bokes and on lerninge he it spente, 3°^ 
And bisily gan for the soules preye 
Of hem that yaf him wher-with to sco'eye 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



/ 



Of studie took he most cure and most hede. 
Noght o word spak he more than was nede, 
And that was seyd in forme and reverence, 
And short and quik, and ful of hy sentence. 
Sowninge in moral vertu was his speche, 307 
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. 

A Sergeant of the La we, war and wys, 
That often hadde been at the parvys, 310 
Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. 
Discreet he was, and of greet reverence: 
He semed swich, his wordes weren so wyse, 
Justice he was ful often in assyse, 
By patente, and by pleyn commissioun; S'S 
For his science, and for his heigh renoun 
Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. 
So greet a purchasour was nowher noon. 
Al was fee simple to him in effect, 
His purchasing mighte nat been infect. 320 
Nowher so bisy a man as he ther nas, 
And yet he semed bisier than he was. 
In termes hadde he caas and domes alle, 
That from the tyme of king William were 
falle. 324 

Thereto he coude endyte, and make a thing, 
Ther coude no wight pinche at his wryting; 
And every statut coude he pleyn by rote. 
He rood but hoomly in a medlee cote 
Girt with a ceint of silk, with barres smale; 
Of his array telle I no lenger tale. 330 

A Frankeleyn was in his compaignye; 
Whyt was his berd, as is the dayesye. 
Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. 
Wei loved he by the morwe a sop in wyn, 
To liven in delyt was evere his wone, 335 
For he was Epicurus owne sone, 
That heeld opinioun that pleyn delyt 
Was verraily felicitee parfyt. 
An housholdere, and that a greet, was he; 
Seynt lulian he was in his contree. 34° 

His breed, his ale, was alwey after oon; 
A bettre envyned man was nevere noon. 
With-oute bake mete was nevere his hous, 
Of fish and flesh, and that so plentevous, 
[t snewed in his hous of mete and drinke, 
Of alle deyntees that men coude thinke. 346 
After the sondry sesons of the yeer, 
So chaunged he his mete and his soper. 
Ful many a fat partrich hadde he in mewe, 
And many a breem and many a luce in stewe. 
Wo was his cook, but-if his sauce were 3Si 
Poynaunt and sharp, and redy al his gere. 
His table dormant in his halle alway 
Stood redy covered al the longe day. 
At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire. 355 
Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the shire. 
An anlas and a gipser al of silk 
Heng at his girdel, whyt as morne milk. 
A shirreve hadde he been, and a countour ; 



Was nowher such a worthy vavasour. 36c 

An Haberdassher and a Carpenter, 
A Webbe, a Dyere, and a Tapicer, 
And they were clothed alle in o liveree. 
Of a solempne and greet fraternitee. 
Ful fresh and newe hir gere apyked was ; 36s 
Hir knyves were y-chaped noght with bras, 
But al with silver wroght ful clene and weel, 
Hir girdles and hir pouches everydeel. 
Wei semed ech of hem a fair burgeys, 
To sitten in a yeldhalle on a deys. 370 

Everich, for the wisdom that he can, 
Was shaply for to been an alderman. 
For catel hadde they ynogh and rente, 
And eek hir wyves wolde it wel assente ; 
And elles certein were they to blame. 375 
It is ful fair to been y-clept -ma dame, 
And goon to vigilyes al bifore, 
And have a mantel roialliche y-bore. 

A Cook they hadde with hem for the nones, 
To boille chiknes with the mary-bones, 380 
And poudre-marchant tart, and galingale. 
Wel coude he knowe a draughte of London 

ale. 
He coude roste, and sethe, and broille, and 

frye, 
Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye. 
But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me, 38s 
That on his shine a mormal hadde he ; 
For blankmanger, that made he with the 

beste. 
A Shipman was ther, woning fer by 

weste : 
For aught I woot, he was of Dertemouthe. 
He rood up-on a rouncy, as he couthe, 390 
In a gowne of falding to the knee. 
A daggere hanging on a laas hadde he 
Aboute his nekke under his arm adoun. 
The bote somer had maad his hewe al 

broun ; 
And, certeinly, he was a good felawe. 395 
Ful many a draughte of wyn had he y-drawe 
From Burdeux-ward, whyl that the chapman 

sleep. 
Of nyce conscience took he no keep. 
If that he faught, and hadde the hyer bond, 
By water he sente hem hoom to every lond. 
But of his craft to rekene wel his tydes, 401 
His stremes and his daungers him bisydes, 
His herberwe and his mone, his lodemenage, 
Ther nas noon swich from Hulle to Cartage. 
Hardy he was, and wys to undertake; 405 
With many a tempest hadde his herd been 

shake. 
He knew wel alle the havenes, as they were. 
From Gootlond to the cape of Finistere, 
And every cryke in Britayne and m Spayne ; 
His barge y-cleped was the Maudelayne. 4to 



8 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



With us ther was a Doctour of Phisyk, 
In al this world ne was ther noon him lyk 
To speke of phisik and of surgerye; 
For he was grounded in astronomye. 
He kepte his pacient a ful greet del 4iS 

In houres, by his magik naturel. 
Wei coude he fortunen the ascendent 
Of his images for his pacient. 
He knew the cause of everich maladye, 
Were it of hoot or cold, or moiste, or drye, 
And where engendred, and of what humour; 
He was a verrey parfit practisour. 422 

The cause y-knowe, and of his harm the rote, 
Anon he yaf the seke man his bote. 
Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries, 42s 

To sende him drogges, and his letuaries. 
For ech of hem made other for to winne; 
Hir frendschipe nas nat newe to biginne. 
Wei knew he the olde Esculapius, 
And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus; 43o 

Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien; 
Serapion, Razis, and Avicen; 
Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn; 
Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn. 
Of his diete mesurable was he, 435 

For it was of no superfluitee, 
But of greet norissing and digestible. 
His studie was but litel on the Bible. 
In sangwin and in pers he clad was al, 
Lyned with taffata and with sendal; 44o 
And yet he was but esy of dispence; 
He kepte that he wan in pestilence. 
For gold in phisik is a cordial, 
Therfor he lovede gold in special. 444 

A good Wyf was ther of bisyde Bathe, 
But she was som-del deef, and that was 

scathe. 
Of cloth-making she hadde swiche an haunt. 
She passed hem of Ypres and of Gaunt. 
In al the parisshe wyf ne was ther noon 
That to the offring bifore hir sholde goon; 
And if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she, 
That she was out of alle charitee. 452 

Hir coverchief s ful fyne were of ground ; 
I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound 
That on a Sonday were upon hir heed. 455 
Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed, 
Ful streite y-teyd, and shoos ful moiste and 

newe. 
Bold was hir face, and fair, and reed of 

hewe. 
She was a worthy womman al hir lyve, 
Housbondes at chirche-dore she hadde fyve, 
Withouten other compaignye in youthe ; 461 
But thereof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe. 
And thryes hadde she been at lerusalem; 
She hadde passed many a straunge streem; 
At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne, 



In Galice at seint lame, and at Coloigne. 466 
She coude moche of wandring by the weye. 
Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye. 
Up-on an amblere esily she sat, 
Y-wimpled w^\, and on hir heed an hat 470 
As brood as is a bokeler or a targe; 
A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large. 
And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe. 
In felaweschip wel coude she laughe and 
carpe. 474 

Of remedies of love she knew per-chaunce. 
For she coude of that art the olde daunce. 

A good man was ther of religioun. 
And was a povre Persoun of a toun; 
But riche he was of holy thoght and werk. 
He was also a lerned man, a clerk, 480 

That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; 
His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche. 
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, 
And in adversitee ful pacient; 
And swich he was y-preved ofte sythes. 48s 
Ful looth were him to cursen for his tythes, 
But rather wolde he yeven, out of doute, 
Un-to his povre parisshens aboute 
Of his offring, and eek of his substaunce. 
He coude in litel thing han suffisaunce. 490 
Wyd was his parisshe, and houses fer a-son- 

der. 
But he ne lafte nat, for reyn ne thonder. 
In siknes nor in meschief to visyte 
The ferreste in his parisshe, moche and lyte, 
Up-on his feet, and in his hand a staf. 495 
This noble ensample to his sheep he yaf. 
That first he wroghte, and afterward he 

taughte ; 
Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte ; 
And this figure he added eek ther-to. 
That if gold ruste, what shal yren do? 5oo 
For if a preest be foul, on whom we truste, 
No wonder is a lewed man to ruste ; 
And shame it is, if a preest take keep, 
A [dirty] shepherde and a clene sheep, 
Wei oghte a preest ensample for to yive, 5os 
By his clennesse, how that his sheep shold 

live. 
He sette nat his benefice to hyre. 
And leet his sheep encombred in the myre, 
And ran to London, un-to seynt Poules, 
To seken him a chaunterie for soules, 5io 
Or with a bretherhed to been withholde; 
But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde, 
So that the wolf ne made it nat miscarie; 
He was a shepherde and no mercenarie. 
And though he holy were, and vertuous, S^S 
He was to sinful man nat despitous, 
Ne of his speche daungerous ne digne. 
But in his teching discreet and benigne. 
To drawen folk to heven by fairnesse 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



By good en sample, this was his bisynesse : 
But it were any persona obstinat, 52 1 

What so he were, of heigh or lowe estat, 
Him wolde he snibben sharply for the nones. 
A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher non is. 
He wayted after no pompe and reverence, 
Ne maked him a spyced conscience, 5^6 

But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, 
He taughte, but first he folwed it him-selve. 
With him ther was a Plowman, was his 
brother, 
That hadde y-lad of dong ful many a fother, 
A trewe swinkere and a good was he, 53i 
Livinge in pees and parfit charitee. 
God loved he best with al his hole herte 
At alle tymes, thogh him gamed or smerte. 
And thanne his neighebour right as him- 
selve. 535 
He wolde thresshe, and ther-to dyke and 

delve. 
For Cristes sake, for every povre wight, 
Withouten hyre, if it lay in his might. 
His tythes payed he ful faire and wel, 
Bothe of his propre swink and his catel. 54° 
In a tabard he rood upon a mere. 

Ther was also a Reve and a Millere, 
A Somnour and a Pardoner also, 
A Maunciple, and my-self ; ther were namo. 
The Miller was a stout carl, for the nones, 
Ful big he was of braun, and eek of bones ; 
That proved wel, for over-al ther he cam, 547 
At wrastling he wolde have alwey the ram. 
He was short-sholdred, brood, a thikke 

knarre, 
Ther nas no dore that he nolde heve of 
harre, 55o 

Or breke it, at a renning, with his heed. 
His herd as any sowe or fox was reed, 
And ther-to brood, as though it were a spade. 
Up-on the cop right of his nose he hade 
A werte, and ther-on stood a tuft of heres, 
Reed as the bristles of a sowes eres; 556 

His nose-thirles blake were and wyde. 
A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde; 
His mouth as greet was as a greet forneys. 
He was a langlere and a goliardeys, 560 

And that was most of sinne and harlotryes. 
Wel coude he stelen corn, and tollen thryes ; 
And yet he hadde a thombe of gold, pardee. 
A whyt cote and a blew hood wered he. 
A baggepype wel coude he blowe and sowne, 
And therwithal he broghte us out of towne. 
A gentil ^Maunciple was ther of a temple, 
Of which achatours mighte take exemple 568 
For to be wyse in bying of vitaille. 
For whether that he payde, or took by taille, 
Algate he wayted so in his achat, 57 1 

That He was ay biforn and in good stat. 



Now is nat that of God a ful fair grace, 
That swich a lewed mannes wit shal pace 
The wisdom of an heep of lerned men? 575 
Of maistres hadde he mo than thryes ten, 
That were of lawe expert and curious ; 
Of which ther were a doseyn in that hous, 
Worthy to been stiwardes of rente and lond 
Of any lord that is in Engelond, 580 

To make him live by his propre good, 
In honour dettelees, but he were wood, 
Or live as scarsly as him list desire; 
And able for to helpen al a shire 
In any cas that mighte falle or happe; 58s 
And yit this maunciple sette hir aller cappe. 

The Reve was a sclendre colerik man, 
His herd was shave as ny as ever he can. 
His heer was by his eres round y-shorn. 
His top was dokked lyk a preest biforn. 590 
Ful longe were his legges, and ful lene, 
Y-lyk a staf, ther was no calf y-sene. 
Wel coude he kepe a gerner and a binne; 
Ther was noon auditour coude on him winne. 
Wel wiste he, by the droghte, and by the 
reyn, 595 

The yeldyng of his seed, and of his greyn. 
His lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye. 
His swyn, his hors, his stoor, and his pultrye, 
Was hoolly in this reves governing. 
And by his covenaunt yaf the rekening, 600 
Sin that his lord was twenty yeer of age; 
Ther coude no man bringe him in arrerage. 
Ther nas baillif, ne herde, ne other hyne, 
That he ne knew his sleighte and his covyne ; 
They were adrad of him, as of the deeth. 603 
His woning was ful fair up-on an heeth. 
With grene trees shadwed was his place. 
He coude bettre than his lord purchace. 
Ful riche he was astored prively. 
His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly, 610 
To yeve and lene him of his owne good, 
And have a thank, and yet a cote, and hood. 
In youthe he lerned hadde a good mister; 
He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter. 
This reve sat up-on a ful good stot, 615 

That was al pomely grey, and highte Scot. 
A long surcote of pers up-on he hade, 
And by his syde he bar a rusty blade. 
Of Northfolk was this reve, of which I telle, 
Bisyde a toun men clepen Baldeswelle. 620 
Tukked he was, as is a frere, aboute. 
And evere he rood the hindreste of our 
route. 

A SoMNOUR was ther with us in that place, 
That hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face, 
For sawceflem he was, with eyen narwe. 625 
As hoot he was, and lecherous as a sparwe, 
With scalled browes blake, and piled herd; 
Of his visage children were aferd. 



lO 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



Ther nas quik-silver, litarge, ne brimstoon, 
Boras, ceruce, ne oille of tartre noon, 630 
Ne oynement that wolde dense and byte, 
That him mighte helpen of his whelkes 

whyte, 
Ne of the knobbes sittinge on his chekes. 
Wei loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lakes. 
And for to drinken strong wyn, reed as 

blood. 63s 

Thanne wolde he speke, and crye as he were 

wood. 
And whan that he wel dronken hadde the 

wyn, 
Than wolde he speke no word but Latyn. 
A fewe termes hadde he, two or thre. 
That he had lerned out of som decree; 640 
No wonder is, he herde it al the day; 
And eek ye knowen wel, how that a lay 
Can clepen ' Watte,' as well as can the pope. 
But who-so coude in other thing him grope, 
Thanne hadde he spent al his philosophye; 
Ay ' QuesHo quid iuris' wolde he crye. 646 
He was a gentil harlot and a kynde ; 
A bettre felawe sholde men noght fynde. 
He wolde suffre for a quart of wyn 
A good felawe to have his concubyn 650 
A twelf-month, and excuse him atte fuUe : 
And prively a finch eek coude he puUe. 
And if he fond owher a good felawe. 
He wolde techen him to have non awe, 
In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curs, 655 
But-if a mannes soule were in his purs; 
For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be. 
' Purs is the erchedeknes helle,' seyde he. 
But wel I woot he lyed right in dede ; 
Of cursing oghte ech gulty man him drede — 
For curs wol slee right as assoilling sav- 

eth — 661 

And also war him of a significavit. 
In daunger hadde he at his owne gyse 
The yonge girles of the diocyse, 
And knew hir counseil, and was al hir reed. 
A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed, 666 
As greet as it were for an ale-stake ; 
A bokeler hadde he maad him of a cake. 
With him ther rood a gentil Pardoner 
Of Rouncivale, his frend and his compeer. 
That streight was comen fro the court of 

Rome. 671 

Ful loude he song, * Come hider, love, to 

me.' 
This somnour bar to him a stif burdoun, 
Was nevere trompe of half so greet a soun. 
This pardoner hadde heer as yelow as wex, 
But smothe it heng, as doth a strike of flex; 
By ounces henge his lokkes that he hadde. 
And there-with he his shuldres overspradde; 
Rut thinne it lay. by colpons oon and oon ; 



But hood, for lolitee, ne wered he noon, 6^0 
For it was trussed up in his walet. 
Him thoughte he rood al of the newe let; 
Dischevele, save his cappe, he rood al bare. 
Swiche glaringe eyen hadde he as an hare. 
A vernicle hadde he sowed on his cappe. 685 
His walet lay biforn him in his lappe, 
Bret-ful of pardoun come from Rome al 

hoot. 
A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot. 
No berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have. 
As smothe it was as it were late y-shave; 690 
* * * 

But of his craft, fro Berwik into Ware, 
Ne was ther swich another pardoner. 
For in his male he hadde a pilwe-beer, 
Which that, he seyde, was our lady veyl : 69s 
He seyde he hadde a gobet of the seyl 
That seynt Peter hadde, whan that he wente 
Up-on the see, til lesu Crist him hente. 
Fie hadde a croys of latoun, ful of stones. 
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones. 700 
But with thise relikes, whan that he fond 
A povre person dwelling up-on lond, 
Up-on a day he gat him more moneye 
Than that the person gat in monthes tweye. 
And thus with feyned flaterye and lapes, 705 
He made the person and the peple his apes. 
But trevv^ely to tellen, atte laste, 
He was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste. 
Wel coude he rede a lessoun or a storie. 
But alderbest he song an offertorie; 710 

For wel he wiste, whan that song was songe, 
He moste preche, and wel affyle his tonge, 
To winne silver, as he ful wel coude ; 
Therefore he song so meriely and loude. 

Now have I told you shortly, in a clause, 
Thestat, tharray, the nombre, and eek the 
cause 7i€ 

Why that assembled was this compaignye 
In Southwerk, at this gentil hostelrye, 
That highte the Tabard, faste by the Belle. 
But now is tyme to yow for to telle 720 

How that we baren us that ilke night, 
Whan we were in that hostelrye alight. 
And after wol I telle of our viage, 
And al the remenaunt of our pilgrimage. 
But first I pray yow of your curteisye, 725 
That ye narette it nat my vileinye, 
Thogh that I pleynly speke in this matere. 
To telle yow hir wordes and hir chere; 
Ne thogh I speke hir wordes proprely. 
For this ye knowen al-so wel as I^ 73° 

Who-so shal telle a tale after a man,. 
He moot reherce, as ny as evere he can, 
Everich a word, if it be in his charge, 
Al speke he never so rudeliche and large; 
Or elles he moot telle his tale untrewe, 73 5 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



IT 



Or feyne thing, or fynde words newe. 

He may nat spare, al-thogh he were his 

brother ; 
He moot as wel seye o word as another. 
Crist spak him-self ful brode in holy writ, 
And wel ye woot, no vileinye is it. 74o 

Eek Plato seith, who-so that can him rede. 
The wordes mote be cosin to the dede. 
Also I prey yow to foryeve it me, 
Al have I nat set folk in hir degree 
Here in this tale, as that they sholde stonde; 
My wit is short, ye may wel understonde. 746 
Greet chere made our hoste ns everichon, 
And to the soper sette he us anon ; 
And served us with vitaille at the beste. 
Strong was the wyn, and wel to drinke us 
leste. 750 

A semely man our hoste was with-alle 
For to han been a marshal in an halle; 
A large man he was with eyen stepe, 
A fairer burgeys was ther noon in Chepe : 
Bold of his speche, and wys, and wel 
y-taught, 7SS 

And of manhood him lakkede right nattght. 
Eek thereto he was right a mery man, 
And after soper pleyen he bigan, 
And spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges. 
Whan that we hadde maad our rekeninges ; 
And seyde thus : ' Now, lordinges, trewely 
Ye ben to me right welcome hertely: 762 
For by my trouthe, if that I shal nat lye, 
I ne saugh this yeer so mery a compaignye 
At ones in this herberwe as is now. 76s 

Fayn wolde I doon yow mirthe, wiste I how. 
And of a mirthe I am right now bithoght. 
To doon yow ese, and it shal coste noght. 

Ye goon to Caunterbury; God yow spede. 
The blisful martir quyte yow your mede. 77o 
And wel I woot, as ye goon by the weye, 
Ye shapen yow to talen and to pleye ; 
For trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon 
To ryde by the weye doumb as a stoon ; 
And therfore wol I maken yow disport, 775 
As I seyde erst, and doon yow som confort. 
And if yow lyketh alle, by oon assent, 
Now for to stonden at my lugement. 
And for to werken as I shal yow seye, 
To-morwe, whan ye ryden by the weye, 780 
Now, by my fader soule, that is deed, 
But ye be merye, I wol yeve yow myn heed. 
Hold up your hond, withoute more speche.' 
Our counseil was nat longe for to seche ; 
Us thoughte it Avas noght worth to make it 
wys, 785 

And graunted him with-outen more avys, 
And bad him seye his verdit, as him leste. 
' Lordinges,' quod he, ' now herkneth for 
the beste ; 



But tak it not, I prey yow, in desdeyn ; 
This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn, 
That ech of yow, to shorte with our weye, 79t 
In this viage, shal telle tales tweye, 
To Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so, 
And hom-ward he shal tellen othere two. 
Of aventures that whylom han bifalle. 795 
And which of yow that bereth him best of 

alle, 
That is to seyn, that telleth in this cas 
Tales of best sentence and most solas, 
Shal han a soper at our aller cost 
Here in this place, sitting by this post, 800 
Whan that we come agayn fro Caunterbury. 
And for to make yow the more mery, 
I wol my-selven gladly with yow ryde, 
Right at myn owne cost, and be your gyde. 
And who-so wol my lugement withseye 80s 
Shal paye al that we spenden by the weye. 
And if ye vouche-sauf that it be so, 
Tel me anon, with-outen wordes mo, 
And I wol erly shape me therfore.' 
This thing was graunted, and our othes 
swore 810 

With ful glad herte, and preyden him also 
That he wold vouche-sauf for to do so, 
And that he wolde been our governour. 
And of our tales luge and reportour. 
And sette a soper at a certeyn prys; 815 

And we wold reuled been at his devys. 
In heigh and lowe ; and thus, by oon assent, 
We been acorded to his lugement. 
And ther-up-on the wyn was fet anoon; 
We dronken, and to reste wente echoon, 820 
With-outen any lenger taryinge. 
A-morwe, whan that day bigan to springe. 
Up roos our host, and was our aller cok, 
And gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok, 
And forth we riden, a litel more than pas, 
Un-to the watering of seint Thomas. 826 
And there our host bigan his hors areste, 
And seyde; 'Lordinges, herkneth if yow 

leste. 
Ye woot your forward, and I it yow recorde. 
If even-song and morwe-song acorde, 830 
Lat se now who shal telle the firste tale. 
As evere mote I drinke wyn or ale, 
Who-so be' rebel to my lugement 
Shal paye for al that by the weye is spent. 
Now draweth cut, er that we ferrer twinne; 
He which that hath the shortest shal be- 

ginne.' 
'Sire knight,' quod he, 'my maister and my 
lord, S37 

Now draweth cut, for that is myn acord. 
Cometh neer,' quod he, 'my lady prioresse ; 
And ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfastnesse, 
Ne studieth noght; ley hond to, every man.' 



12 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



Anon to drawen every wight bigan, 842 
And shortly for to tellen, as it was, 
Were it by aventure, or sort, or cas, 
The sothe is this, the cut fil to the knight, 84s 
Of which ful blythe and glad was every 

wight ; 
And telle he moste his tale, as was resoun. 
By forward and by composicioiin. 
As ye han herd; what nedeth wordes mo? 
And whan this goode man saugh it was so, 
As he that wys was and obedient 851 

To kepe his forward by his free assent. 
He seyde : ' Sin I shal beginne the game. 
What, welcome be the cut, a Goddes name! 
Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.' 

And with that word we riden forth our 



weye; 



856 



And he bigan with right a mery chere 
His tale anon, and seyde in this mannere. 



THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE 

A povre widwe somdel stope in age. 

Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, 

Bisyde a grove, stondyng in a dale. 

This widwe, of which I telle yow my tale, 

Sin thilke day that she was last a wyf, 5 

In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf, 

For litel was hir catel and hir rente ; 

By housbondrye, of such as God hir sente. 

She fond hir-self, and eek hir doghtren two. 

Three large sowes hadde she, and namo, 1° 

Three kyn, and eek a sheep that highte Malle. 

Ful sooty was hir hour, and eek hir halle, 

In which she eet ful many a sclendre meel. 

Of poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel. 

No deyntee morsel passed thrugh hir throte; 

Hir dyete was accordant to hir cote. 16 

Repleccioun ne made hir nevere syk; 

Attempree dyete was al hir phisyk, 

And exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce. 

The goute lette hir no-thing for to daunce, 20 

Ne poplexye shente nat hir heed; 

No wyn ne drank she, neither whyt ne reed ; 

Hir bord was served most with whyt and 

blak. 
Milk and brotin breed, in which she fond no 

lak, 
Seynd bacoun, and somtyme an ey or tweye, 
For she was as it were a maner deye. ^6 

A yerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute 
With stikkes, and a drye dich with-oute. 
In which she hadde a cok, hight Chaunte- 

cleer, 
In al the land of crowing nas his peer. 30 
His vols was merier than the merye orgon 
On messe-dayes that in the chirche gon ; 



Wei sikerer was his crowing in his logge, 

Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge. 

By nature knew he ech ascencioun 3S 

Of equinoxial in thilke toun ; 

For whan degrees fiftene were ascended, 

Thanne crew he, that it mighte nat ben 

amended. 
His comb was redder than the fyn coral. 
And batailed, as it were a castel-wal. 40 
His bile was blak, and as the leet it shoon; 
Lyk asur were his legges, and his toon; 
His nayles whytter than the lilie flour. 
And lyk the burned gold was his colour. 
This gentil cok hadde in his governaunce 45 
Sevene hennes, for to doon al his pleasaunce, 
Whiche were his sustres and his paramours. 
And wonder lyk to him, as of colours. 
Of whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte 
Was cleped faire damoysele Pertelote. 5° 
Curteys she was, discreet, and debonaire. 
And compaignable, and bar hir-self so faire, 
Sin thilke day that she was seven night old, 
That trewely she hath the herte in hold 
Of Chauntecleer loken in every lith; SS 

He loved hir so, that wel him was therwith. 
But such a loye was it to here hem singe, 
Whan that the brighte Sonne gan to springe, 
In swete accord, 'my lief is faren in londe.' 
For thilke tyme, as I have understonde, 60 
Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe. 

And so bifel, that in a dawenynge, 
As Chauntecleer among his wyves alle 
Sat on his perche, that was in the halle, 
And next him sat this faire Pertelote, 65 
This Chauntecleer gan gronen in his throte. 
As man that in his dreem is drecched sore. 
And whan that Pertelote thus herde him 

rore. 
She was agast, and seyde, ' O herte deere, 
What eyleth yow, to grone in this manere? 
Ye ben a verray sleper, fy for shame!' 7i 
And he answerde and seyde thus, ' Madame, 
I pray yow, that ye take it nat agrief : 
By God, me mette I was in swich meschief 
Right now, that yet myn herte is sore afright. 
Now God,' quod he, ' my swevene rede 

aright, 76 

And keep my body out of foul prisoun ! 
Me mette, how that I romed up and doun 
Withinne our yerde, wher as I saugh a beste, 
Was lyk an hound, and wolde han maad 

areste 80 

Upon my body, and wolde han had me deed. 
His colour was bitwixe yelwe and reed ; 
And tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres 
With blak, unlyk the remenant of his heres; 
His snowte smal, with glowinge eyen tweye. 
Yet of his look for fere almost I deye; 86 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



13 



This caused me my groning, douteles.' 

' Avoy ! ' quod she, ' fy on yow, herteles ! 
Alias ! ' quod she, ' for, by that God above, 
Now han ye lost myn herte and al my love ; 
I can nat love a coward, by my feith. 91 
For certes, what so any womman seith. 
We alle desyren, if it mighte be, 
To han housbondes hardy, wyse, and free. 
And secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, 93 
Ne him that is agast of every tool, 
Ne noon avauntour, by that God above ! 
Haw dorste ye sayn for shame unto youre 

love. 
That any thing mighte make yow aferd? 
Have ye no mannes herte, and han a herd? 
Alias! and conne ye been agast of swevenis? 
No-thing, God wot, but vanitee, in sweven is. 
Swevenes engendren of replecciouns, 103 
And ofte of fume, and of complecciouns, 
Whan humours been to habundant in a 
wight. 105 

Certes this dreem, which ye han met to- 
night, 
Cometh of the grete superfluitee 
Of youre rede colera, pardee. 
Which causeth folk to dremen in here 

dremes 
Of arwes, and of fyr with rede lemes, no 
Of grete bestes, that they wol hem byte. 
Of contek, and of whelpes grete and lyte; 
Right as the humour of malencolye 
Causeth ful many a man, in sleep, to crye. 
For fere of blake beres, or boles blake, ns 
Or elles, blake develes wole him take. 
Of othere humours coude I telle also. 
That werken many a man in sleep ful wo ; 
But I wol passe as lightly as I can. "9 

Lo Catoun, which that was so wys a man, 
Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors of dremes ? 
Now, sire,' quod she, ' whan we flee fro the 

hemes. 
For Goddes love, as tak som laxatyf ; 
Up peril of my soule, and of my lyf, 
I counseille yow the beste, I wol nat lye, 125 
That both of colere, and of malencolye 
Ye purge yow; and for ye shul nat tarie. 
Though in this toun is noon apotecarie, 
I shal my-self to herbes techen yow. 
That shul ben for your hele, and for your 
prow; 130 

And in our yerd tho herbes shal I fynde. 
The whiche han of here propretee, by kynde, 
To purgen yow binethe, and eek above. 
Forget not this, for Goddes owene love ! 
Ve been ful colerik of compleccioun. i3S 

Ware the sonne in his ascencioun 
Ne fynde yow nat repleet of humours bote; 
And if it do, I dar wel leye a grota. 



That ye shul have a fevere terciane. 

Or an agu, that may be youre bane. 140 

A day or two ye shul have digestyves 

Of wormes, er ye take your laxatyves. 

Of lauriol, centaure, and fumetere. 

Or elles of ellebor, that groweth there. 

Of catapuce, or of gaytres beryis, 14s 

Of erbe yve, growing in our yerd, that mery 

is; 
Pekke hem up right as they growe, and 

ete hem in. 
Be mery, housbond, for your fader kyn! 
Dredeth no dreem; I can say yow namore.' 
' Madame,' quod he, ' graunt mercy of your 
lore. ISO 

But natheles, as touching daun Catoun, 
That hath of wisdom such a gret renoun. 
Though that he bad no dremes for to drede, 
By God, men may in olde bokes rede 
Of many a man, more of auctoritee iss 

Than evere Catoun was, so moot I thee, 
That al the revers seyn of this sentence. 
And han wel founden by experience. 
That dremes ben significaciouns. 
As wel of loj^e as tribulaciouns 160 

That folk enduren in this lyf present. 
Ther nedeth make of this noon argument; 
The verray preve sheweth it in dede. 
Oon of the gretteste auctours that men rede 
Seith thus, that whylom two felawes wente 
On pilgrimage, in a ful good entente; 166 

And happed so, they come into a toun, 
Wher as ther was swich congregacioun 
Of peple, and eek so streit of herbergage. 
That they ne founde as muche as o cotage, 
In which they bothe mighte y-logged be. 171 
Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee, 
As for that night, departen compaignye; 
And ech of hem goth to his hostelrye. 
And took his logging as it wolde falle. '7; 
That oon of hem was logged in a stalle, 
Fer in a yerd, with oxen of the plough ; 
That other man was logged wel y-nough. 
As was his aventure, or his fortune. 
That us governeth alle as in commune. 180 
And so bifel, that, long er it were day. 
This man mette in his bed, ther as he lay. 
How that his felawe gan up-on him calle. 
And seyde, "Alias! for in an oxes stalle 
This night I shal be mordred ther I lye. 185 
Now help me, dere brother, or I dye; 
In alle haste com to me," he sayde. 
This man out of his sleep for fere abrayde; 
But whan that he was wakned of his sleep, 
He turned him, and took of this no keep; 
Him thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee. 
Thus twyes in his sleping dremed he. 192 
And atte thridde tyme yet his felawe 



14 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



Com, as him thoughte, and seide, " I am now 

slawe ; 
Bihold my bloody woundes, depe and wyde! 
Arys up erly in the morwe-tyde, ^96 

And at the west gate of the toun," quod he, 
" A carte ful of donge ther shaltow see, 
In which my body is hid ful prively ; 
Do thilke carte arresten boldely. 2°° 

My gold caused my mordre, sooth to sayn ; " 
And tolde him every poynt how he was slayn, 
With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. 
And truste wel, his dreem he fond ful trewe ; 
For on the morwe, as sone as it was day, 20s 
To his felawes in he took the way; 
And whan that he cam to this oxes stalle, 
After his felawe he bigan to calle. 
The hostiler answerde him anon, 
And seyde, " Sire, your felawe is agon, 210 
As sone as day he wente out of the toun." 
This man gan fallen in suspecioun, 
Remembring on his dremes that he niette. 
And forth he goth, no lenger wolde he lette, 
Unto the west gate of the toun, and fond 
A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond, 216 
That was arrayed in that same wyse 
As ye han herd the dede man devyse ; 
And with an hardy herte he gan to crye 
Vengeaunce and lustice of this felonye : — 
" My felawe mordred is this same night, 221 
And in this carte he lyth gapinge upright. 
1 crye out on the ministres," quod he, 
" That sholden kepe and reulen this citee ; 
Harrow ! alias ! her lyth my felawe slayn ! " 
What sholde I more un-to this tale sayn? 226 
The peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to 

grounde. 
And in the middel of the dong they founde 
The dede man, that mordred was al newe. 

'O blisful God, that art so lust and trewe! 
Lo, how that thou biv.'reyest mordre alway 1 
Mordre wol out, that se we day by day. 232 
Mordre is so wlatsom and abhominable 
To God, that is so lust and resonable, 
That he ne wol nat suffre it heled be; 233 
Though it abyde a yeer, or two, or three, 
Mordre wol out, this my conclusioun. 
And right anoon, ministres of that toun 
Han hent the carter, and so sore him pyned. 
And eek the hostiler so sore engyned, 240 
That thay biknewe hir wikkednesse anoon, 
And were an-hanged by the nekke-boon. 

' Here may men seen that dremes been 
to di'ede. 
And certes, in the same book I rede, 
Right in the nexte chapitre after this, 245 
(I gabbe nat, so have I loye or blis,) 
Two men that wolde han passed over see, 
For certeyn cause, in-to a fer contree, 



If that the wind ne hadde been contrarie, 
That made hem in a citee for to tarie, 250 
That stood ful mery upon an haven-syde. 
But on a day, agayn the even-tyde. 
The wind gan chaunge, and blew right as 

hem leste. 
lolif and glad they wente un-to hir reste, 
And casten hem ful erly for to saille; 255 
But to that 00 man fel a greet mervaille. 
That oon of hem, in sleping as he lay, 
Him mette a wonder dreem, agayn the day; 
Him thoughte a man stood by his beddes 

syde. 
And him comaunded, that he sholde abyde, 
And seyde him thus, " If thou to-morwe 

wende, 261 

Thou shalt be dreynt; my tale is at an 

ende." 
He wook, and tolde his felawe what he 

mette, 
And preyde him his viage for to lette ; 
As for that day, he preyde him to abyde. 265 
His felawe, that lay by his beddes syde, 
Gan for to laughe, and scorned him ful faste. 
" No dreem," quod he, " may so myn herte 

agaste. 
That I wol lette for to do my thinges. 
I sette not a straw by thy dreminges, 270 
For swevenes been but vanitees and lapes. 
Men dreme al-day of owles or of apes. 
And eek of many a mase therwithal ; 
Men dreme of thing that nevere was ne shal. 
But sith I see that thou wolt heer abyde, 275 
And thus for-sleuthen wilfully thy tyde, 
God wot it reweth me ; and have good day." 
And thus he took his leve, and wente his way. 
But er that he hadde halfe his cours y-seyled, 
Noot I nat why, ne what mischaunce it 

eyied, 280 

But casuelly the shippes botme rente, 
And ship and man under the water wente 
In sighte of othere shippes it byside, 
That with hem seyled at the same tyde. 
And therfor, faire Pertelote so dere, 283 
By swiche ensamples olde maistow lere, 
That no man sholde been to recchelees 
Of dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees, 
That many a dreem ful sore- is for to drede. 
' Lo, in the lyf of seint Kenelm, I rede, 290 
That was Kenulphus sone, the noble king 
Of Mercenrike, how Kenelm mette a thing; 
A lyte er he was mordred, on a day, 
His mordre in his avisioun he say. 
His norice him expouned every del 29s 

His swevene, and bad him for to kepe him 

wel 
For traisoun ; but he nas but seven yeer old 
And therefore litel tale hath he told 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



T5 



Of any dreem, so holy was his herte. 

By God, I hadde levere than my sherte 300 

That ye had rad his legende, as have I. 

Dame Pertelote, I sey yow trewely, 

Macrobeus, that writ the avisioun 

In Affrike of the worthy Cipioun, 

Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been 

Warning of thinges that men after seen. 306 

And forther-more, I pray yow loketh wel 

In the olde testament, of Daniel, 

If he held dremes any vanitee. 

Reed eek of loseph, and ther shul ye see 310 

Wher dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat alle) 

Warning of thinges that shul after falle. 

Loke of Egipt the king, daun Pharao, 

His bakere and his boteler also, 

Wher they ne felte noon effect in dremes. 

Who so wol seken actes of sondry remes, 316 

May rede of dremes many a wonder thing. 

' Lo Cresus, which that was of Lyde king, 
Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree, 
Which signified he sholde anhanged be? 320 
Lo heer Andromacha, Ectores wyf. 
That day that Ector sholde lese his lyf, 
She drenied on the same night biforn. 
How that the lyf of Ector sholde be lorn, 
If thilke day he wente in-to bataille; 32s 
She warned him, but it mighte nat availle ; 
He wente for to fighte natheles, 
But he was slayn anoon of Achilles. 
But thilke tale is al to long to telle. 
And eek it is ny day, I may nat dwelle. 330 
Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun. 
That I shal han of this avisoun 
Adversitee ; and I seye forther-more. 
That I ne telle of laxatyves no store, 
For they ben venimous, I woot it wel; 33S 
I hem defye, I love hem nevere a del. 

' Now let us speke of mirthe, and stinte al 
this ; 
Madame Pertelote, so have I blis. 
Of o thing God hath sent me large grace; 
For whan I see the beautee of your face, 340 
Ye ben so scarlet-reed about youre yen, 
It makcth al my drede for to dyen ; 
For, also siker as In principio, 
Mulicr est hominis confusio; 
Madame, the sentence of this Latin is — 345 
Womman is mannes loye and al his blis. 

I am so ful of loye and of solas 3So 

That I defye bothe sweven and dreem.' 
And with that word he fley doun fro the 

beem, 
For it was day, and eek his hennes alle ; 
And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle. 
For he had founde a corn, lay in the yerd. 
Roiai he was, he was namore aferd; 356 

i.- Ik ;^ 



He loketh as it were a grim leoun ; 
And on his toos he rometh up and doun, 360 
Him deyned not to sette his foot to grounde. 
He chukketh, whan he hath a corn y-founde. 
And to him rennen thanne his wyves alle. 
Thus roial, as a prince is in his halle, 
Leve I this Chauntecleer in his pasture; 365 
And after wol I telle his aventure. 

Whan that the month in which the world 

bigan. 
That highte March, whan God first maked 

man. 
Was complet, and y-passed were also. 
Sin March bigan, thritty dayes and two, 370 
Bifel that Chauntecleer, in al his pryde. 
His seven wyves walking by his syde. 
Caste up his eyen to the brighte sonne, 
That in the signe of Taurus hadde y-ronnc 
Twenty degrees and con, and somwhat 

more; 375 

And knew by kynde, and by noon other lore. 
That it was pryme, and crew with blis ful 

stevene. 
'The sonne,' he sayde, *is clomben up on 

hevene 
Fourty degrees and oon, and more, y-wis. 
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, 3S'J 

Herkneth thise blisful briddes how they 

singe, 
And see the fresshe floures how they 

springe ; 
Ful is myn hert of revel and solas.' 
But sodeinly him fil a sorweful cas ; 
For evere the latter ende of loye is wo. 385 
Got woot that worldly loye is sone ago ; 
And if a rethor coude faire endyte. 
He in a chronique saufiy mighte it write. 
As for a sovereyn notabilitee. 
Now every wys man, lat him herkne me ; 39o 
This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake. 
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake, 
That wommen holde in ful gret reverence. 
Now wol I torne agajm to my sentence. 

A col-fox, ful of sly iniquitee, 395 

That in the grove hadde woned yeres three, 
By heigh- imaginacioun forn-cast. 
The same night thurgh-out the hegges brast 
Into the yerd, ther Chauntecleer the faire 
Was wont, and eek his wyves, to repaire; 400 
And in a bed of wortes stille he lay. 
Til it was passed undern of the day, 
Wayting his tyme on Chauntecleer to falle 
As gladly doon thise homicydes alle, 
That in awayt liggen to mordre men. 40s 
O false mordrer, lurking in thy den ! 
O newe Scariot, newe Genilon ! 
False dissimilour, O Greek Sinon, 
That broghtest Troye al outrely to sorwe ! 
O Chauntecleer,, acursed be that morwe. 410 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



That thou into that yerd flough fro the 

hemes ! 
Thou were ful wel y-vvarned by thy dremes, 
That thilke day was perilous to thee. 
But what that God forwot mot nedes be, 
After the opinioun of certeyn clerkis. 41s 
Witnesse on him, that any perfit clerk is. 
That in scole is gret altercacioun 
In this matere, and greet disputisoun, 
And hath ben of an hundred thousand men. 
But I ne can not bulte it to the bren, 420 
As can the holy doctour Augustyn, 
Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardyn, 
Whether that Goddes worthy forwiting 
Streyneth me nedely for to doon a thing, 
(Nedely clepe I simple necessitee) ; 42s 

Or elles, if free choys be graunted me 
To do that same thing, or do it noght, 
Though God forwot it, er that it was 

wroght ; 
Or if his witing streyneth nevere a del 
But by necessitee condicionel. 430 

I wol not han to do of swich matere; 
My tale is of a cok, as ye may here, 
That took his counseil of his wyf, with 

sorwe. 
To walken in the yerd upon that morwe 434 
That he had met the dreem, that I of tolde. 
Wommennes counseils been ful ofte colde ; 
Wommannes counseil broghte us first to wo, 
And made Adam fro paradys to go, 
Ther as he was ful mery, and wel at ese. 
But for I noot, to whom it mighte displese, 
If I counseil of wommen wolde blame, 44i 
Passe over, for I seyde it in my game. 
Rede auctours, wher they trete of swich 

matere, 
And what thay seyn of wommen ye may 

here. 
Thise been the cokkes wordes, and nat myne ; 
I can noon harme of no womman divyne. 
Faire in the sond, to bathe hire merily, 447 
Lyth Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, 
Agayn the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free 
Song merier than the mermayde in the see; 
For Phisiologus seith sikerly, 451 

How that they singen wel and merily. 
And so bifel, that as he caste his ye. 
Among the wortes, on a boterflye. 
He was war of this fox that lay ful lowe. 455 
No-thing ne liste him thanne for to crowe. 
But cryde anon, ' cok, cok,' and up he sterte, 
As man that was affrayed in his herte. 
For naturelly a beest desyreth flee 
Fro his contrarie, if he may it see, 460 

Though he never erst had seyn it with his 

ye. 



This Chauntecleer, whan he gan him espye, 
He wolde han fled, but that the fox anon 
Seyde, ' Gentil sire, alias ! wher wol ye gon ? 
Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend? 
Now certes, I were worse than a feend, 466 
If I to yow wolde harm or vileinye. 
I am nat come your counseil for tespye; 
But trewely, the cause of my cominge 
Was only for to herkne how that ye singe. 
For trewely ye have as mery a stevene, 47i 
As eny aungel hath, that is in hevene; 
Therwith ye han in musik more felinge 
Than hadde Boece, or any that can singe. 
My lord your fader (God his soule blesse!) 
And eek your moder, of hir gentilesse, 476 
Han in myn hous y-been, to my gret ese ; 
And certes, sire, ful fayn wolde I yow plese. 
But for men speke of singing, I wol saye. 
So mote I brouke wel myn eyen tweye, 480 
Save yow, I herde nevere man so singe. 
As dide your fader in the morweninge; 
Certes, it was of herte, al that he song. 
And for to make his voys the more strong. 
He wolde so peyne him, that with both his 
yen 48s 

He moste winke, so loude he wolde cryen, 
And stonden on his tiptoon therwithal, 
And strecche forth his nekke long and smal. 
And eek he was of swich discrecioun, 
That ther nas no man in no regioun 490 
That him in song or wisdom mighte passe, 
I have weel rad in daun Burnel the Asse, 
Among his vers, how that ther was a cok. 
For that a prestes sone yaf him a knok 
Upon his leg, whyl he was yong and nyce, 
He made him for to lese his benefyce. 496 
But certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun 
Bitwix the wisdom and discrecioun 
Of your fader, and of his subtiltee. 
Now singcth, sire, for seinte charitee, 5oo 
Let se, conne ye your fader countrefete? ' 
This Chauntecleer his winges gan to bete, 
As man that coude his tresoun nat espye, 
So was he ravisshed with his flaterye. 

Alias ! ye lordes, many a f als fiatour S05 
Is in your courtes, and many a losengeour, 
That plesen yow wel more, by my feith. 
Than he that soothfastnesse unto yow seith. 
Redeth Ecclesiaste of flaterye; 
Beth war, ye lordes, of hir trecherye. S'o 

This Chauntecleer stood hye up-on his 
toos, 
Strecching his nekke, and held his eyen cloos. 
And gan to crowe loude for the nones ; 
And daun Russel the fox sterte up at ones, 
And by the gargat hente Chauntecleer, 5 is 
And on his bak toward the wode him beer, 



THE CANTERBURY TALES 



17 



For yet ne was ther no man that him sewed. 
O destinee, that mayst nat ben eschewed'! 
Alias, that Chauntecleer fleigh fro the 

hemes ! 
Alias, his wyf ne roghte nat of dremes ! 520 
And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce. 
O Venus, that art goddesse of plesaunce, 
Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer, 
And in thy service dide al his poweer, 
More for delyt, than world to multiplye, 525 
Why woldestow suffre him on thy day to 

dye? 
O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn, 
That, whan thy worthy king Richard was 

slayn 
With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore, 
Why ne hadde I now thy sentence and thy 
lore, 530 

The Friday for to chide, as diden ye? 
(For on a Friday soothly slayn was he.) 
Than wolde I shewe yow how that I coude 

pleyne 
For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne. 
Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun 535 

Was nevere of ladies maad, whan Ilioun 
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite 

swerd, 
Whan he hadde hent king Priam by the herd, 
And slayn him (as saith us Eneydos), 
As maden alle the hennes in the clos, S4o 
Whan they had seyn of Chauntecleer the 

sighte. 
But sovereynly dame Pertelote shrighte, 
Ful louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf, 
Whan that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf, 
And that the Romayns hadde brend Cartage, 
She was so ful of torment and of rage, 546 
That wilfully into the fyr she sterte. 
And brende hir-selven with a stedfast herte. 
O woful hennes, right so cryden ye, 
As, whan that Nero brende the citee sso 
Of Rome, cryden senatoures wyves. 
For that hir housbondes losten alle hir 

lyves ; 
Withouten gilt this Nero hath hem slayn. 
Now wol I torne to my tale agayn : 

This sely widwe, and eek hir doghtres two, 
Herden thise hennes crye and maken wo, 556 
And out at dores sterten thay anoon. 
And syen the fox toward the grove goon, 
And bar upon his bak the cok away; 
And cryden, ' Out ! harrow ! and weylaway ! 
Ha, ha, the fox ! ' and after him they ran, 
And eek with staves many another man ; S62 
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Ger- 

land, 
And Malkin, with a distaf in hir hand; 564 
Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges 



So were they fered for berking of the dogges 
And shouting of the men and wimmen eke, 
They ronne so, hern thoughte hir herte breke. 
They yelleden as feendes doon in helle ; 
The dokes cryden as men wolde hem quelle; 
The gees for fere flowen over the trees; 571 
Out of the hyve cam the swarm of bees; 
So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicite! 
Certes, he lakke Straw, and his meynee, 
Ne maden nevere shoutes half so shrille, 575 
Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille. 
As thilke day was maad upon the fox. 
Of bras thay broghten hemes, and of box, 
Of horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and 

pouped. 
And therwithal thay shryked and they 

houped ; 580 

It semed as that hevene sholde falle. 
Now, gode men, I pray yow herkneth alle! 

Lo, how fortune turneth sodeinly 
The hope and pryde eek of hir enemy! 
This cok, that lay upon the foxes bak, 583 
In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak, 
And seyde, ' Sire, if that I were as ye. 
Yet sholde I seyn (as wis God helpe me), 
" Turneth agayn, ye proude cherles alle ! 
A verray pestilence up-on yow falle I 590 
Now am I come un-to this wodes syde, 
Maugree your heed, the cok shal heer 

abyde ; 
I wol him ete in feith, and that anon."' 
The fox answerde, 'In feith, it shal be 

don,' 
And as he spak that word, al sodeinly 593 
This cok brak from his mouth deliverly, 
And heighe up-on a tree he fleigh awon. 
And whan the fox saugh that he was y-gon, 
' Alias ! ' quod he, ' O Chauntecleer, alias ! 
I have to yow,' quod he, 'y-doon trespas, 
In-as-muche as I maked yow aferd, 601 

Whan I yow hente, and broghte out of the 

yerd; 
But, sire, I dide it in no wikke entente; 
Com doun, and I shal telle yow what I 

mente. 
I shal seye sooth to yow, God help me so.' 
' Nay than,' quod he, ' I shrewe us bothe two. 
And first I shrewe my-self, bothe blood and 

bones, 607 

If thou bigyle me offer than ones. 
Thou shalt namore, thurgh thy flaterye 
Do me to singe and winke with myn ye. 610 
For he that winketh, whan he sholde see, 
Al wilfully, God lat him never thee!' 
' Nay,' quod the fox, ' but God yive him 

meschaunce, 
That is so undiscreet of governaunce, 
That iangleth whan he sholde holde his pees.' 



I! 



GEOFFREY CHAUCER 



Lo, swich it is for to be recchelees, 6i6 
And necligent, and truste on flaterye. *! 
But ye that holden this tale a folye, 
As of a fox, or of a cok and hen, 
Taketh the moralitee, good men. 620 

For seint Paul seith, that al that writen is, 
To our doctryne it is y-write, y-wis. 
Taketh the fruyt, and lat the chaf be stille. 

Now, gode God, if that it be thy wille, 624 
As seith my lord, so make us alle good men ; 
And bringe us to his heighe blisse. Amen. 



CHAUCERS WORDES UNTO ADAM 
HIS OWNE SCRIVEYN 

Adam scriveyn, if ever it thee bifalle 
Boece or Troilus to wryten newe, 
Under thy lokkes thou most have the scalle, 
But after my making thou wryte trewe. 
So ofte a daye I mot thy werk renewe, S 
Hit to correcte and eek to rubbe and scrape ; 
And al is through thy negligence and rape. 



LAK OF STEDFASTNESSE 

BALADE 

Som tyme this world was so stedfast and 

stable 
Tliat mannes word was obligacioun, 
And now hit is so fals and deceivable, 
That word and deed, as in conclusioun, 
Ben no-thing lyk, for turned up so doun 5 
Is al this world for mede and wilfulnesse. 
That al is lost, for lak of stedfastnesse. 

What maketh this world to be so variable 
But lust that folk have in dissensioun? 
Among us now a man is holde unable, 1° 
But-if he can, by som collusioun, 
Don his neighbour wrong or oppressioun. 
What causeth this, but wilful wrecchednesse, 
That al is lost, for lak of stedfastnesse? 

Trouthe is put doun, resoun is holden 
fable; is 

Vertu hath now no dominacioun, 
Pitee exyled, no man is merciable. 
Through covetyse is blent discrecioun ; 



The world hath mad a permutacioun 

Fro right to wrong, fro trouthe to fikelnesse, 

That al is lost, for lak of stedfastnesse. 21 

Lenvoy to King Richard 

prince, desyre to be honourable. 
Cherish thy folk and hate extorcioun ! 
Suffre no thing, that may be reprevable 25 
To thyn estat, don in thy regioun. 

Shew forth thy swerd of castigacioun, 
Dred God, do law, love trouthe and worthi- 

nesse. 
And wed thy folk agein to stedfastnesse. 

THE COMPLEINT OF CHAUCER TO 
HIS EMPTY PURSE 

To you, my purse, and to non other wight 
Compleyne I, for ye be my lady dere I 

1 am so sory, now that ye be light ; 
For certes, but ye make me hevy chere, 
Me were as leef be leyd up-on my here ; S 
For whiche un-to your mercy thus I crye: 
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye ! 

Now voucheth sauf this day, or hit be night, 
That I of you the blisful soun may here. 
Or see your colour lyk the sonne bright, 10 
That of yelownesse hadde never pere. 
Ye be my lyf, ye be myn hertes stere, 
Quene of comfort and of good companye: 
Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye ! 

Now purs, that be to me my lyves light, is 
And saveour, as doun in this world here. 
Out of this toune help me through your 

might, 
Sin that ye M'^ole nat been my tresorere ; 
For I am shave as nye as any frere. 
But yit I pray un-to your curtesye : 20 

Beth hevy ageyn, or elles mot I dye ! 

Lenvoy de Chaucer 

O conquerour of Brutes Albioun! 
Which that by lyne and free eleccioun 
Ben verray king, this song to you I sende: 
And ye, that mowen al our harm amende, «* 
Have minde up-on my supplicacioun ! 



SIR THOMAS MALORY (c. 1400-1471) 

Concerning the life of.tlie author of the Morte d' Arthur little is known. He was born about 
the year 1400, lived at Newbold Revell, was knighted, and represented Warwickshire in parlia- 
ment in 3445. He was ' a gentleman of an ancient house and a soldier,' belonging to the 
most highly cultivated society of his day. Malory was prominent on the Lancastrian side in 
the Wars of the Roses, and his military service extended to France, where he was associated 
with Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, a knight distinguished throughout Europe as the 
embodiment of the chivalric ideal and as ' the father of courtesy.' Certain of the Earl of 
Warwick's exploits provide a rapid and highly colored narrative not unlike that of the Morte 
dWrtlmr itself. It would seem, then, that Sir Thomas jNIalory was in every way endowed for 
composing the chivalric compilation by which he is now chiefly known. 

William Caxton (c. 1422-3491) deserves a place by the side of Malory in the literary his- 
tory of the fifteenth century not only because he edited and published the Morte d'Artlnir, but 
also because he brought into print numerous other works of romance. After a considerable 
period of activity as a merchant, Caxton began his career as printer, translator, and editor by 
issuing at Bruges, about 1475, the first bock printed in English, The Recuyell of the Histories 
of Troy. Caxton translated this work himself, from the French of Raoul le Fevre. In 147r> 
he returned to England, and set up his press in Westminster, where he finished printing, jon 
November 18, 1477, The Dictes and Sayings of the PMlosorihers, the first dated book issued in 
England. From his press in Westminster, Caxton issued some seventy-one separate works, of 
which Malory's Morte d' Arthur was the fifty-second. 



LE" MORTE D'ARTHUR 

PREFACE OF WILLIAM CAXTON and the third, Julius Caesar, Emperor of 

Rome, of whom the histories be well 
After that I had accomplished and fin- knov^m and had. And as for the three 
ished divers histories, as well of contem- Jews which also were to-fore the Incar- 
plation as of other historical and worldly 5 nation of our Lord, of whom the first was 
acts of great conquerors and princes, and Duke Joshua which brought the children 
also certain books of ensamples and doc- of Israel into the land of behest; the sec- 
trine, many noble and divers gentlemen of ond, David, King of Jerusalem ; and the 
this realm of England came and demanded third, Judas Maccabseus : of these three 
me, many and ofttimes, wherefore that I lo the Bible rehearseth all their noble histo- 
have not do made and enprint the noble ries and acts. And since the said Incar- 
history of the Sangreal, and of the most nation have been three noble christian 
renowned christian king, first and chief of men stalled and admitted through the uni- 
the three best christian and worthy, King versal world into the number of the nine 
Arthur, which ought most to be remem- 15 best and worthy, of whom was first the 
bered among us Englishmen to-fore all noble Arthur, whose noble acts I purpose 
other christian kings. For it is noto- to write in this present book here follow- 
riously known through the universal world ing. The second was Charlemagne, or 
that there be nine worthy and the best Charles the Great, of whom the history is 
that ever were. That is to wit three pay- 20 had in many places, both in French and 
nims, three Jews, and three christian men. English ; and the third and last was God- 
As for the paynims they were to-fore frey of Boloine, of whose acts and life I 
the Incarnation of Christ, which were made a book unto the excellent prince and 
named, the first. Hector of Troy, of whom king of noble memory. King Edward the 
the history is come both in ballad and in 25 Fourth. The said noble gentlemen in- 
prose; the second, Alexander the Great; stantly required me to enprint the history 



20 SIR THOMAS MALORY 



of the said noble king and conqueror, King in the town of Camelot, the great stones 
Arthur, and of his knights, with the his- and marvelous works of iron, lying under 
tory of the Sangreal, and of the death and the ground, and royal vaults, which divers 
ending of the said Arthur; affirming that I now living have seen. Wherefore it is a 
ought rather to enprint his acts and noble 5 marvel why he is no more renowned in 
feats, than of Godfrey of Boloine, or any his own country, save only it accordeth to 
of the other eight, considering that he was the Word of God, which saith that no 
a man born within this realm, and king man is accept for a prophet in his own 
and emperor of the same; and that there country. 

be in French divers and many noble vol- lo Then all these things foresaid alleged, 
umes of his acts, and also of his knights. I could not well deny but that there was 
To whom I answered, that divers men such a noble king named Arthur, and re- 
hold opinion that there was no such Ar- puted one of the nine worthy, and first 
thur, and that all such books as been made and chief of the christian men; and many 
of him be feigned and fables, because that 15 noble volumes be made of him and of his 
some chronicles make of him no mention, noble knights in French, which I have seen 
nor remember him no thing, nor of his and read beyond the sea, which be not 
knights. Whereto they answered, and one had in our maternal tongue, but in Welsh 
in special said, that in him that should be many and also in French, and some 
say or think that there was never such a 20 in English, but nowhere nigh all. Where- 
king called Arthur, might well be aretted fore, such as have late been drawn out 
great folly and blindness ; for he said that briefly into English I have after the sim- 
there were many evidences of the con- pie conning that God hath sent to me, 
trary : first ye may see his sepulture in the under the favor and correction of all 
monastery of Glastonbury. And also in 25 noble lords and gentlemen, emprised to 
Polichronicon, in the fifth book the sixth enprint a book of the noble histories of 
chapter, and in the seventh book the the said King Arthur, and of certain of 
twenty-third chapter, where his body was his knights, after a copy unto me deliv- 
buried, and after found, and translated ered, which copy Sir Thomas Malory did 
into the said monastery. Ye shall see 30 take out of certain books of French, and 
also in the history of Bochas, in his book reduced it into English. And I, accord- 
De Casu Principum, part of his noble acts, ing to my copy, have done set it in en- 
and also of his fall. Also Galfridus in his print, to the intent that noble men may 
British book recounteth his life ; and in see and learn the noble acts of chivalry, 
divers places of England many remem-35 the gentle aod virtuous deeds that some 
brances be yet of him and shall remain knights used in those days, by which they 
perpetually, and also of his knights. First came to honor ; and how they that were 
in the Abbey of Westminster, at Saint vicious were punished and oft put to 
Edward's shrine, remaineth the print of shame and rebuke; humbly beseeching all 
his seal in red wax closed in beryl, in 40 noble lords and ladies, with all other es- 
which is written Patricius Arthurus, Brit- tates, of what estate or degree they been 
annie, Gallic, Germanie, Dacie, Imperator. of, that shall see and read in this said 
Item in the castle of Dover ye may see book and work, that they take the good 
Gawaine's skull and Craddock's mantle : and honest acts in their remembrance, and 
at Winchester the Round Table: in other 45 to follow the same. Wherein they shall 
places Launcelot's sword and many other find many joyous and pleasant histories, 
things. Then all these things considered, and noble and renowned acts of humanity, 
there can no man reasonably gainsay but gentleness, and chivalries. For herein may 
there was a king of this land named Ar- be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, 
thur. For in* all places, christian and 50 friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, 
heathen, he is reputed and taken for one cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. 
of the nine worthy, and the first of the Do after the good and leave the evil, and 
three christian men. And also he is more it shall bring you to good fame and re- 
spoken of beyond the sea, more books nown. And for to pass the time this book 
made of his noble acts, than there be in 55 shall be pleasant to read in; but for to 
England, as well in Dutch, Italian, Span- give faith and belief that all is true that 
ish, and Greek, as in French. And yet of is contained herein, ye be at your liberty; 
record remain in witness of him in Wales, but all is written for our doctrine, and 



LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 21 

for to beware that we fall not to vice nor teen chapters. The twelfth book treat- 
sin; but to exercise and follow virtue; eth of Sir Launcelot and his madness, 
by which we may come and attain to good and containeth fourteen chapters. The 
fame and renown in this life, and after thirteenth book treateth how Galahad 
this short and transitory life, to come unto 5 came first to King Arthur's court, and 
everlasting bliss in heaven, the which he the quest how the Sangreal M^as be- 
grant' us that reigneth in heaven, the gun, and containeth twenty chapters, 
blessed Trinity. Amen. The fourteenth book treateth of the quest 

Then to proceed forth in this said book, of the Sangreal, and containeth ten chap- 
which I direct unto all noble princes, lords, 10 ters. The fifteenth book treateth of Sir 
and ladies, gentlemen or gentlewomen, Launcelot, and containeth six chapters, 
that desire to read or hear read of the The sixteenth book treateth of Sir Bors 
noble and joyous history of the great con- and Sir Lionel his brother, and contain- 
queror and excellent king. King Arthur, eth seventeen chapters. The seventeenth 
sometime king of this noble realm, then 15 book treateth of the Sangreal, and con- 
called Britain. I, William Caxton, sim- taineth twenty-three chapters. The eight- 
pie person, present this book following, eenth book treateth of Sir Launcelot and 
which I have emprised to enprint; and the queen, and containeth twenty-five 
treateth of the noble acts, feats of arms chapters. The nineteenth book treateth 
of chivalry, prowess, hardiness, humanity, 20 of Queen Guenever and Launcelot, and 
love, courtesy and very gentleness, with containeth thirteen chapters. The twen- 
many wonderful histories and adventures, tieth book treateth of the piteous death 
And for to understand briefly the content of Arthur, and containeth twenty-two 
of this volume, I have divided it into chapters. The twenty-first book treateth 
twenty-one books, and every book chap- 25 of his last departing, and how Sir Laun- 
tered as hereafter shall by God's grace celot came to revenge his death, and con- 
follow. The first book shall treat how taineth thirteen chapters. The sum is 
Uther Pendragon gat the noble conqueror twenty-one books, which contain the sum 
King Arthur, and containeth twenty-eight of five hundred and seven chapters, as 
chapters. The second book treateth of 30 more plainly shall follow hereafter. 
Balin the noble knight, and containeth 

nineteen chapters. The third book treat- * :)c * 

eth of the marriage of King Arthur to 

Queen Guenever, with other matters, and • ■RODK XXJ 

containeth fifteen chapters. The fourth 35 

book, how Merlin was assotted, and of CHAPTER I 

war made to King Arthur, and containeth 

twenty-nine chapters. The fifth book ^^^ ^IR mordred presumed and took 
treateth of the conquest of Lucius the em- ^^ him to be king of England, and 

peror, and containeth twelve chapters. 40 ^°u^°, ^^^^ married the queen, his 
The sixth book treateth of Sir Launcelot ^^^^^ ^ ^^^^ 

and Sir Lionel, and marvelous adven- As Sir Mordred was ruler of all Eng- 

tures, and containeth eighteen chapters, land, he did do make letters as though 
The seventh book treateth of a noble that they came from beyond the sea, and 
knight called Sir Gareth, and named by 45 the letters specified that King Arthur was 
x3ir Kay, Beaumains, and containeth slain in battle with Sir Launcelot. Where- 
thirty-six chapters. The eighth book treat- fore Sir Mordred made a parliament, and 
eth of the birth of Sir Tristram the noble called the lords together, and there he 
knight, and of his acts, and containeth made them to choose him king; and so 
forty-one chapters. The ninth book treat- 5° was he crowned at Canterbury, and held 
eth of a knight named by Sir Kay, Le a feast there fifteen days; and afterward 
Cote Male Taille, and also of Sir Tris- he drew him unto Winchester, and there 
tram, and containeth forty-four chapters, he took the Queen Guenever, and said 
The tenth book treateth of Sir Tristram plainly that he would wed her which was 
and other marvelous adventures, and 55 his uncle's wife and his father's wife, 
containeth eighty-eight chapters. The And so he made ready for the feast, 
eleventh book treateth of Sir Latmcelot and a day prefixed that they should be 
and Sir Galahad, and containeth four- wedded; wherefore Queen Guenever was 



22 SIR THOMAS MALORY 



passing heavy. But she durst not dis- Guenever by letters and sonds, and by 
cover her heart, but spake fair, and fair means and foul means, for to have 
agreed to Sir Mordred's will. Then she her to come out of the Tower of London ; 
desired of Sir Mordred for to go to Lon- but all this availed not, for she answered 
don, to buy all manner of things that 5 him shortly, openly and privily, that she 
longed unto the wedding. And because had liefer slay herself than to be married 
of her fair speech, Sir Mordred trusted with him. Then came word to Sir *Mor- 
her well enough, and gave her leave to dred that King Arthur had araised the 
go. And so when she came to London, siege for Sir Launcelot, and he was com- 
she took the Tower of London, and sud- lo ing homeward with a great host, to be 
denly in all haste possible she stuffed it avenged upon Sir Mordred; wherefore 
with all manner of victual, and well gar- Sir Mordred made write writs to all the 
nished it with men, and so kept it. Then barony of this land, and much people 
when Sir Mordred wist and understood drew to him. For then was the common 
how he was beguiled, he was passing 15 voice among them that with Arthur was 
wroth out of measure. And a short tale none other life but war and strife, and 
for to make, he went and laid a mighty with Sir Mordred was great joy and bliss, 
siege about the Tower of London, and Thus w^as Sir Arthur depraved and evil 
made many great assaults thereat, and said of. And many there were that King 
threw many great engines unto them, and 20 Arthur had made up of naught, and given 
shot great guns. But all might not pre- them lands, might not then say him a 
vail Sir Mordred, for Queen Guenever good word. Lo ye all Englishmen, see 
would never for fair speech nor for foul, ye not what a mischief here was ! for he 
would never trust to come in his hands that was the most king and knight of the 
again. Then came the Bishop of Canter- 25 world, and most loved the fellowship of 
bury, the which was a noble clerk and noble knights, and by him they were all 
an holy man, and thus he said to Sir upholden, now might not these English- 
Mordred: 'Sir, what will ye do? Avill ye men hold them content with him. Lo 
first displease God and sithen shame thus was the old custom and usage of 
yourself, and ail knighthood? Is not 30 this land; and also men say that we of 
King Arthur your uncle, no farther but this land have not yet lost nor forgotten 
your mother's brother, and on her himself that custom and usage. Alas, this is a 
King Arthur begat you upon his own great default of us Englishmen, for there 
sister, therefore how may you wed your may no thing please us no term. And 
father's wife? Sir,' said the noble 35 so fared the people at that time, they 
clerk, ' leave this opinion or I shall curse were better pleased with Sir Mordred 
you with book and^bell and candle.' 'Do than they were with King Arthur; and 
thou thy worst,' said Sir Mordred, ' wit much people drew unto Sir Mordred, and 
thou well I shall defy thee.' ' Sir/ said the said they would abide with him for bet- 
bishop, ' and wit you well I shall not 40 ter and for worse. And so Sir Mordred 
fear me to do that me ought to do. Also drew with a great host to Dover, for 
where ye noise where my lord Arthur is there he heai'd say that Sir Arthur would 
slain, and that is not so, and therefore ye arrive, and so he thought to beat his 
will make a foul work in this land.' own father from his lands; and the most 
' Peace, thou false priest,' said Sir Mor- 45 part of all England held with Sir Mor- 
dred, ' for an thou chafe me any more, I dred, the people were so new-fangle. 
shall make strike off thy head.' So the 

bishop departed and did the cursing in CHAPTER ll 

the most orgulist wise that might be done. 

And then Sir Mordred sought the Bishop 50 ^ow ^^^^^ ^^at king Arthur had 
of Canterbury, for to have slain him. '^^^^^GS, he returned and came to 
Then the bishop fled, and took part of his °°^^^' ^^^^^ ^^^ mordred met him 
goods with him, and went nigh unto to let his landing; and of the death 

r-i . 1 J, 1 , ^ • ^ OF SIR GAWAINE 

Glastonbury; and there he was as priest 

hermit in a chapel, and lived in poverty 55 And so as Sir Mordred was at Dover 

and in holy prayers, for well he under- with his host, there came King Arthur 

stood that mischievous war was at hand, with a great navy of ships, and galleys, 

Then Sir Mordred sought on Queen and carracks. And there was Sir Mordred 



LE MORTE D' ARTHUR 23 

ready awaiting upon his landing, to let I, Sir Gawaine, King Lot's son of Ork- 
Jiis own father to land upon the land that ney, sister's son unto the noble King 
he was king over. Then there was Arthur, send thee greeting, and let thee 
launching of great boats and small, and have knowledge that the tenth day of 
full of noble men of arms ; and there was 5 May I was smitten upon the old wound 
much slaughter of gentle knights, and that thou gavest me afore the city ot 
many a full bold baron was laid full low, Benwick, and through the same wound 
on both parties. But King Arthur was so that thou gavest me I am come to my 
courageous that there might no manner death-day. And I will that all the world 
of knights let him to land, and his knights 10 wit, that I, Sir Gawaine, knight of the 
fiercely followed him; and so they landed Table Round, sought my death, and not 
maugre Sir Mordred and all his power, through thy deserving, but it was mine 
and put Sir Mordred aback, that he fled own seeking; wherefore I beseech thee, 
and all his people. Sir Launcelot, to return again unto this 

So when this battle was done. King 15 realm, and see my tomb, and pray some 
Arthur let bury his people that were dead, prayer, more or less, for my soul. And 
And then was noble Sir Gawaine found this same day that I v,^rote this cedle, I 
in a great boat, lying more than half dead, was hurt to the death in the same wound. 
When Sir Arthur wist that Sir Gawaine the which I had of thy hand. Sir Launce- 
was laid so low, he went unto him ; and 20 lot ; for of a more nobler man might I 
there the king made sorrow out of meas- not be slain. Also, Sir Launcelot, for all 
ure, and took Sir Gawaine in his arms, the love that ever was betwixt us, make 
and thrice he there swooned. And then no tarrying, but come over the sea in 
when he awaked, he said : ' Alas, Sir Ga- all haste, that thou mayest with thy 
waine, my sister's son, here now thou 25 noble knights rescue that noble king that 
liest, the man in the world that I loved made thee knight, that is my lord Ar- 
most; and now is my joy gone, for now, thur; for he is full straitly bestead with 
my nephew Sir Gawaine, I will discover a false traitor, that is my half-brother, 
me unto your person: in Sir Launcelot Sir Mordred; and he hath let crown him 
and you I most had my joy, and mine 30 king, and would have wedded my lady 
afiiance, and now have I lost my joy of Queen Guenever, and so had he done 
you both; wherefore all min*; earthly joy had she not put herself in the Tower of 
is gone from me.' ' Mine uncle King London. And so the tenth day of May 
Arthur,' said Sir Gawaine, ' wit you well last past, my lord Arthur and we all 
my death-day is come, and all is through 35 landed upon them at Dover ; and there we 
mine own hastiness and wilfulness; for put that false traitor. Sir Mordred, to 
I am smitten upon the old wound the flight, and there it misfortuned me to be 
which Sir Launcelot gave me, on the stricken upon thy stroke. And at the 
which I feel well I must die; and had date of this letter was written, but 
Sir Launcelot been with you as he was, 40 two hours and a half afore my 
this unhappy war had never begun; and death, written with mine own hand, 
of all this am I causer, for Sir Launcelot and so subscribed with part of my 
and his blood, through their prowess, held heart's blood. And I require thee, most 
all your cankered enemies in subjection famous knight of the world, that thou 
and danger. And now,' said Sir Ga-45 wilt see my tomb.' And then Sir Ga- 
waine, 'ye shall miss Sir Launcelot. waine wept, and King Arthur wept; and 
But, alas, I would not accord with him, then they swooned both. And when they 
and therefore,' said Sir Gawaine, ' I pray awaked both, the king made Sir Ga- 
you, fair uncle, that I may have paper, waine to receive his Saviour. And then 
pen, and ink, that I may write to Sir 50 Sir Gawaine prayed the king for to send 
Launcelot a cedle with mine own hands.' for Sir Launcelot, and to cherish him 
And then when paper and ink was above all other knights. And so at the 
brought, then Gawaine was set up weakly hour of noon Sir Gawaine yielded up 
by King Arthur, for he was shriven a the spirit; and then the king let inter 
little to-fore; and then he wrote thus, as 55 him in a chapel within Dover Castle; 
the French book maketh mention : ' Unto and there yet all men may see the skull 
Sir Launcelot, flower of all noble knights of him, and the same wound is seen that 
that ever I heard of or saw by my days. Sir Launcelot gave him in battle. Then 



24 SIR THOMAS MALORY 

was it told the king that Sir Mordred awaked the king; and then he was sc 
had pight a new field upon Barham amazed that he wist not where he was; 
Down. And upon the morn the king and then he fell a-slumbering again, not 
rode thither to him, and there was a sleeping nor thoroughly waking. So the 
great battle betwixt them, and much peo- 5 king seemed verily that there came Sir 
pie was slain on both parties; but at the Gawaine unto him with a number of 
last, Sir Arthur's party stood best, and fair ladies with him. And when King 
Sir Mordred and his party fled unto Can- Arthur saw him, then he said : ' Welcome, 
terbury. my sister's son; I weened thou hadst been 

10 dead, and now I see thee alive, much am 

CHAPTER III J beholding unto almighty Jesu. O fair 

HOW AFTER, SIR gawaine's GHOST AP- Jf P^^w and my sister's son, what he 

PEARED TO KING ARTHUR, AND WARNED ^^esc ladies that hither be come with 

HIM THAT HE SHOULD NOT FIGHT THAT ^ou ? Sir, Said Sir Gawame, all these 

15 be ladies for whom 1 have foughten 
when I was man living, and all these are 

And then the king let search all the those that I did battle for in righteous 
towns for his knights that were slain, quarrel; and God hath given them that 
and interred them; and salved them with grace at their great prayer, because I 
soft salves that so sore were wounded. 20 did battle for them, that they should 
Then much people drew unto King Ar- bring me hither unto you: thus much 
thur. And then they said that Sir Mor- hath God given me leave, for to warn 
dred warred upon King Arthur with you of your death; for an ye fight as 
wrong. And then King Arthur drew to-morn with Sir Mordred, as ye both 
him with his host down by the seaside 25 have assigned, doubt ye not ye must be 
westward toward Salisbury; and there slain, and the most part of your people 
was a day assigned betwixt King Arthur on both parties. And for the great grace 
and Sir Mordred, that they should meet and goodness that Almighty Jesu hath 
upon a down beside Salisbury, and not unto you, and for pity of you, and many 
far from the seaside ; and this day was 30 more other good men there shall be slain, 
assigned on a Monday after Trinity Sun- God hath sent me to you of his special 
day, whereof King Arthur was passing grace, to give you warning that in no wise 
glad, that he might be avenged upon Sir ye do battle as to-morn, but that ye take 
Mordred. Then Sir Mordred araised a treaty for a month day ; and proffer you 
much people about London, for they of 35 largely, so as to-morn to be put in a de- 
Kent, Southsex, and Surrey, Estsex, and lay. For within a month shall come Sir 
of Southfolk, and of Northfolk, held the Launcelot with all his noble knights, and 
most part with Sir Mordred; and many rescue you worshipfully, and slay Sir 
a full noble knight drew unto Sir Mor- Mordred, and all that ever will hold with 
dred and to the king : but they that loved 40 him.' Then Sir Gawaine and all the 
Sir Launcelot drew unto Sir Mordred. ladies vanished. 

So upon Trinity Sunday at night. And anon the king called upon his 

King Arthur dreamed a wonderful dream, knights, squires, and yeomen, and charged 
and that was this : that him seemed he them wightly to fetch his noble lords and 
sat upon a chaflet in a chair, and the 45 wise bishops unto him. And when they 
chair was fast to a wheel, and thereupon were come, the king told them his avision, 
sat King Arthur in the richest cloth of what Sir Gawaine had told him, and 
gold that might be made; and the king warned him that if he fought on the 
thought there was under him, far from morn he should be slain. Then the king 
him, an hideous deep black water, and 50 commanded Sir Lucan the Butler, and 
therein were all manner of serpents, and his brother Sir Bedivere, with two bish- 
worms, and wild beasts, foul and hor- ops with them, and charged them in any 
rible ; and suddenly the king thought the wise, an they might, ' Take a treaty for 
wheel turned up-so-down, and he fell a month day with Sir Mordred, and 
among the serpents and every beast took 55 spare not, proffer him lands and goods as 
him by a limb ; and then the king cried much as ye think best.' So then they de- 
as he lay on his bed and slept : ' Help ! ' parted, and came to Sir Mordred, where 
And then knights, squires, and yeomen, he had a grim host of an hundred thou- 



LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 25 



sand men. And there they entreated in devoir, and in g'reat peril. And thus 
Sir Mordred long time ; and at the last Sir they fought all the long day, and never 
Mordred was agreed for to have Corn- stinted till the noble knights were laid to 
wall and Kent, by Arthur's days: after, the cold earth; and ever they fought still 
all England, after the days of King Ar- 5 till it was near night, and by that time 
thur, was there an hundred thousand laid dead 

upon the down. Then was Arthur wood 
CHAPTER IV wroth out of measure, when he saw his 

people so slain from him. 

HOW BY MISADVENTURE OF AN ADDER THE ^ rjf, i.u 1 • i i j v i. t.- j 

zzwvv x.i 1 c » „,,^io ihen the kmg looked about him, and 

BATTLE BEGAN, WHERE MORDRED WAS ,, , '^ j: n i,- u i. j r 

' ^ „„„ then was he ware, of all his host and of 



SLAIN, AND ARTHUR HURT TO THE n i- j ^ • i^ i r.. 

' all his good knights, were left no more 

alive but two knights ; that one was Sir 
Then were they condescended that King Lucan the Butler, and his brother Sir 
Arthur and Sir Mordred should meet be- 15 Bedivere, and they were full sore 
twixt both their hosts, and everych of wounded. ' Jesu mercy,' said the king, 
them should bring fourteen persons ; and ' where are all my noble knights be- 
they came with this word unto Arthur. come? Alas that ever I should see this 
Then said he : ' I am glad that this is doleful day, for now,' said Arthur, ' I am 
done : ' and so he went into the field. 20 come to mine end. But would to God that 
And when Arthur should depart, he I wist where were that traitor Sir Mor- 
warned all his host that an they see any dred, that hath caused all this mischief.' 
sword drawn : ' Look ye come on fiercely. Then was King Arthur ware where Sir 
and slay that traitor. Sir Mordred, for Mordred leaned upon. his sword among a 
I in no wise trust him.' In like wise Sir 25 great heap of dead men. ' Now give me 
Mordred warned his host that: 'An ye my spear,' said Arthur unto Sir Lucan, 
see any sword drawn, look that ye come ' for yonder I have espied the traitor that 
on fiercely, and so slay all that ever be- all this woe hath wrought.' ' Sir, let him 
fore you standeth; for in no wise I will be,' said Sir Lucan, 'for he is unhappy; 
not trust for this treaty, for I know well 30 and if ye pass this unhappy day, ye shall 
my father will be avenged on me.' And be right well revenged upon him. Good 
so they met as their appointment was, lord, remember ye of your night's dream, 
and so they were agreed and accorded and what the spirit of Sir Gawaine told 
thoroughly; and wine was fetched, and you this night, yet God of his great good- 
they drank. Right soon came an adder 35 ness hath preserved you hitherto. There- 
out of a Uttle heath bush, and it stung fore, for God's sake, my lord, leave off by 
a knight on the foot. And when the this, for, blessed be God, ye have won the 
knight felt him stung, he looked down and field, for here v\^e be three alive, and with 
saw the adder, and then he drew his Sir Mordred is none alive; and if ye 
sword to slay the adder, and thought of 40 leave off now, this wicked day of destiny 
none other harm. And when the host on is past.' ' Tide me death, betide me life,' 
both parties saw that sword drawn, then saith the king, ' now I see him yonder 
they blew beams, trumpets, and horns, alone he shall never escape mine hands, 
and shouted grimly. And so both hosts for at a better avail shall I never have 
dressed them together. And King Arthur 45 him.' ' God speed you well,' said Sir 
took his horse, and said : ' Alas, this un- Bedivere. 

happy day ! ' and so rode to his party. Then the king gat his spear in both his 

And Sir Mordred in like wise. And hands, and ran toward Sir Mordred, cry- 
never was there seen a more dolefuller ing: 'Traitor, now is thy death-day 
battle in no christian land ; for there was 50 come.' And when Sir Mordred heard Sir 
but rushing and riding, foining and strik- Arthur, he ran until him with his sword 
ing, and many a grim word was there drawn in his hand. And there King Ar- 
spoken either to other, and many a deadly thur smote Sir Mordred under the shield, 
stroke. But ever King Arthur rode with a foin of his spear, throughout the 
throughout the battle of Sir Mordred 55 body, more than a fathom. And when 
many times, and did full nobly as a noble Sir Mordred felt that he had his death 
king should, and at all times he fainted wound, he thrust himself with the might 
never; and Sir Mordred that day put him that he had up to the bur of King Ar- 



26 SIR THOMAS MALORY 

thur's speai". And right so he smote his me, that had more need of help than I. 
father Arthur, with his sword holden in Alas, he would not complain him, his 
both his hands, on the side of the head, heart was so set to help me : now Jesu 
that the sword pierced the helmet and the have mercy upon his soul ! ' Then Sir 
brain-pan, and therewithal Sir Mordred 5 Bedivere wept for the death of his brother, 
fell stark dead to the earth ; and the noble ' Leave this mourning and weeping,' said 
Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth, and the king, ' for all this will not avail me, 
there he swooned ofttimes. And Sir for wit thou well, an I might live myself, 
Lucan the Butler, and Sir Bedivere, oft- the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me 
times heaved him up. And so weakly they lo evermore ; but my time hieth fast,' said 
led him betwixt them both, to a little the king. ' Therefore,' said Arthur unto 
chapel not far from the seaside. And Sir Bedivere, ' take thou Excalibur, my 
when the king was there, he thought him good sword, and go with it to yonder 
Avell eased. waterside, and when thou comest there, I 

Then heard they people ery in the field. 15 charge thee throw my sword in that water, 
' Now go, thou, Sir Lucan,' said the king, and come again and tell me what thou 
' and do me to wit what betokens that there seest.' ' My lord,' said Bedivere, 
noise in the field.' So Sir Lucan de- ' your commandment shall be done, and 
parted, for he was grievously wounded in lightly bring you word again.' 
many places. And so as he yede, he saw 20 So Sir Bedivere departed, and by the 
and hearkened by the moonlight, how that way he beheld that noble sword, that the 
pillers and robbers were come into the pommel and the haft was all of precious 
field, to pill and to rob many a full noble stones; and then he said to himself: 'If 
knight of brooches., and beads, of many I throw this rich sword in . the water, 
a good ring, and of many a rich jewel ; 25 thereof shall never come good, but harm 
and who that were not dead all out, there and loss.' And then Sir Bedivere hid 
they slew them for their harness and Excalibur under a tree. And so, as soon 
their riches. When Sir Lucan understood as he might, he came again unto the king, 
this work, he came to the king as soon as and said he had been at the water, and 
he might, and told him all what he had 3° bad thrown the sword in the water, 
heard and seen. 'Therefore by my rede,' 'What saw thou there?' said the king, 
said Sir Lucan, ' it is best that we bring ' Sir,' he said, ' I saw nothing but waves 
you to some town.' ' I would it were so,' and winds.' ' That is untruly said of 
said the king. thee,' said the king, ' therefore go thou 

35 lightly again, and do my commandment; 
CHAPTER V as thou art to me lief and dear, spare not, 

but throw it in.' Then Sir Bedivere re- 

HOW KING ARTHUR COMMANDED TO CAST ^^^^^^ ■ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ -^^ ^-^ 

HIS SWORD EXCALIBUR INTO THE WATER. ^^^^^ ^^- ^^^^ ^.^ ^^^^^^^ ^.^ ^^^ ^^^^^ 
AND HOW HE WAS DELIVERED TO LADIES ^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ 

IN A BARGE g£^ ^xq hid the sword, and returned again, 

' But I may not stand, mine head works and told to the king that he had been at 
so. Ah, Sir Launcelot,' said King Ar- the water, and done his commandment, 
thur, 'this day have I sore missed thee: 'What saw thou there?' said the king, 
alas, that ever I was against thee, for now 45 ' Sir,' he said, ' I saw nothing but the 
have I my death, whereof Sir Gawaine waters wap and waves wan.' ' Ah, trai- 
me warned in my dream.' Then Sir tor untrue,' said King Arthur, ' now hast 
Lucan took up the king the one part, and thou betrayed me twice. Who would have 
Sir Bedivere the other part, and in the weened that, thou that hast been to me so 
lifting the king swooned; and Sir Lucan 50 lief and dear? and thou art named a noble 
fell in a swoon with the lift, that the part knight, and would betray me for the rich- 
of his guts fell out of his body, and there- ness of the sword. But now go again 
with the noble knight's heart brast. And lightly, for thy long tarrying putteth me 
when- the king awoke, he beheld Sir in great jeopardy of my life, for I have 
Lucan, how he lay foaming at the mouth, 55 taken cold. And but if thou do now as 
and part of his guts lay at his feet. I bid thee, if ever I may see thee, I shall 
'Alas,' said the king, 'this is to me a slay thee with mine own hands; for thou 
full heavy sight, to see this noble duke so wouldst for my rich sword see me dead.' 
die for my sake, for he would have holpen Then Sir Bedivere departed, and went 



LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 



to the sword, and lightly took it up, and chapel, he saw where lay an hermit 
went to the waterside ; and there he groveling on all four, there fast by a 
bound the girdle about the hilts, and then tomb was new graven. When the hermit 
he threw the sword as far into the water saw Sir Bedivere he knew him well, for 
as he might; and there came an arm and 5 he was but little to-fore Bishop of Canter- 
an hand above the water and met it, and bury,, that Sir Mordred flemed. 'Sir,' 
caught it, and so shook it thrice and bran- said Bedivere, ' what man is there interred 
dished, and then vanished away the hand that ye pray so fast for ? ' ' Fair son,' 
with the sword in the water. So Sir said the hermit, ' I wot not verily, but by 
Bedivere came again to the king, and told lo deeming. But this night, at midnight, 
him what he saw. ' Alas,' said the king, here came a number of ladies, and 
' help me hence, for I dread me I have brought hither a dead corpse, and prayed 
tarried over long.' Then Sir Bedivere me to bury him; and here they offered 
took the king upon his back, and so went an hundred tapers, and they gave me an 
with him to that water side. And when 15 hundred besants.' 'Alas,' said "Sir Be- 
they were at the water side, even fast by divere, ' that was my lord King Arthur, 
the bank hoved a little barge with many that here lieth buried in this chapel.' 
fair ladies in it, and among them all was Then Sir Bedivere swooned; and when 
a queen, and all they had black hoods, and he awoke he prayed the hermit he might 
all they wept and shrieked when they saw 20 abide with him still there, to live with 
King Arthur. ' Now put me into the fasting and prayers. ' For from hence 
barge,' said the king. And so he did will I never go,' said Sir Bedivere, ' by my 
softly; and there received him three will, but all the days of my life here to 
queens with great mourning; and so they pray for my lord Arthur,' 'Ye are wel- 
set them down, and in one of their laps 25 come to me,' said the hermit, ' for I know 
King Arthur laid his head. And then ye better than ye ween that I do. Ye are 
that queen said : ' Ah, dear brother, why the bold Bedivere, and the full noble duke, 
have ye tarried so long from me? alas, Sir Lucan the Butler; was your brother.' 
this wound on your head hath caught Then Sir Bedivere told the hermit all as 
over-much cold.' And so then they rowed 3° ye have heard to-fore. So there bode Sir 
from the land, and Sir Bedivere beheld Bedivere with the hermit that was to-fore 
all those ladies go from him. Then Sir Bishop of Canterbury, and there Sir Bedi- 
Bedivere cried : ' Ah, my lord Arthur, vere put upon him poor clothes, and 
what shall become of me, now ye go from served the hermit full lowly in fasting and 
me and leave me here alone among mine 35 in prayers. 

enemies ? ' ' Comfort thyself,' said the Thus of Arthur I find never more writ- 
king, ' and do as well as thou mayest, for ten in books that be authorized, nor more 
in me is no trust for to trust in ; for I of the very certainty of his death heard I 
will into the vale of Avilion to heal me of never read, but thus was he led away in a 
my grievous wound : and if thou hear 40 ship wherein were three queens ; that one 
never more of me, pray for my soul' was King Arthur's sister. Queen Morgan 
But ever the queens and ladies wept an'l le Fay; the other was the Queen of 
shrieked, that it was pity to hear. And Northgalis ; the third was the Queen of 
as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight the Waste Lands. Also there was Nimue, 
of the barge, he wept and wailed, and so 45 the chief lady of the lake, that had wed- 
took the forest; and so he went all that ded Pelleas the good knight; and this lady 
night, and in the morning he was ware had done much for King yVrthur, for she 
betwixt two holts hoar, of a chapel and would never suffer Sir Pelleas to be in no 
an hermitage. place where he should be in danger of his 

50 life; and so he lived to the uttermost of 
CHAPTER VI his days with her in great rest. More of 

HOW SIR BEDIVERE FOUND HIM ON THE r'!i '^k''1\2^^'"/ Arthur could I never 

MORROW DEAD IN AN HERMITAGE, AND J"^.' ,^"^ ^hat ladieS brought him tO h,S 
' HOW HE ABODE THERE WITH THE HER-,, ^"^f ? = ^"^ ^"^^^ °"^ ^.^^ ^Uried there, 

■^j.j, 55 that the hermit bare witness that some- 

time was Bishop of Canterburv, but yet 
Then was Sir Bedivere glad, and thither the hermit knew not in certain that he 
he went; and when he came into the was verily the bodv of Kin^ Arthur: fof 



28 SIR THOMAS MALORY 



this tale Sir Bedivere, knight of the Table the queen would not wed him ; then was 
Round, made it to be written. Sir Launcelot wroth out of measure, and 

said to his kinsmen : ' Alas, that double 
CHAPTER VII traitor Sir Mordred, now me repenteth 

5 that ever he escaped my hands, for much 

OF THE OPINION OF SOME MEN OF THE shame hath he done unto my lord Arthur ; 

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR; AND HOW for all I feel by the doleful letter that my 

QUEEN GUENEVER MADE HER A NUN IN j^^.^ gj^. Q^^^-^^ gent me, On whose SOul 

ALMESBURY jgg^ ^isiYQ mercy, that my lord Arthur 

Yet some men say in many parts of lo is full hard bestead. Alas,' said Sir 
England that King Arthur is not dead, Launcelot, ' that ever I should live to 
but had by the will of our Lord Jesu into hear that most noble king that made me 
another place; and men say that he shall knight thus to be overset with his subject 
come again, and he shall win the holy in his own realm. And this doleful letter 
cross. I will not say it shall be so, but i5 that my lord. Sir Gawaine, hath sent me 
rather I will say: here in this world he afore his death, praying me to see his 
changed his life. But many men say that tomb, wit you well his doleful words shall 
there is written upon his tomb this verse : never go from mine heart, for he was a 
Hie jacet Arthiirus, Rex quondam, Rex- full noble knight as ever was born; and 
que futurus [Here lies Arthur, king zo in an unhappy hour was I born that ever 
once, and king to be], Thus leave I here I should have that unhap to slay first Sir 
Sir Bedivere with the hermit, that dwelled Gawaine, Sir Gaheris the good knight, 
that time in a chapel beside Glastonbury, and mine own friend Sir Gareth, that 
and there was his hermitage. And so full noble knight. Alas, I may say I 
they lived in their prayers, and fastings, ^5 am unhappy,' said Sir Launcelot, ' that 
and great abstinence. ever I should do thus unhappily, and, 

And when Queen Guenever understood ' alas, yet might I never have hap to slay 
that King Arthur was slain, and all the that traitor. Sir Mordred.' ' Leave your 
noble knights. Sir Mordred and all the complaints,' said Sir Bors, ' and first re- 
remnant, then the queen stole away, and 30 venge you of the death of Sir Gawaine ; 
five ladies with her, and so she went to and it will be well done that ye see Sir 
Almesbury; and there she let make her- Gawaine's tomb, and secondly that ye re- 
self a nun, and ware white clothes and venge my lord Arthur, and my lady, 
black, and great penance she took, as ever Queen Guenever.' ' I thank _ you,' said 
did sinful lady in this land, and never 35 Sir Launcelot, 'for ever ye will my wor- 
creature could make her merry; but lived ship.' Then they made them ready in all 
in fast!ng, prayers, and alms-deeds, that the haste that might be, with ships and 
all manner of people marveled how virtu- galleys, with Sir Launcelot and his host 
ously she was changed. Now leave we to pass into England. And so he passed 
Queen Guenever in Almesbury, a nun in 40 over the sea till he came to Dover, and 
white clothes and black, and there she was there he landed with seven kings, and the 
abbess and ruler, as reason would; and number was hideous to behold. Then Sir 
turn we from her, and speak we of Sir Launcelot spered of men of Dover where 
Launcelot du Lake. was King Arthur become. Then the peo- 

45 pie told him how that he was slain, and 
CHAPTER VIII Sir Mordred and an hundred thousand 

died on a day ; and how Sir Mordred gave 

HOW WHEN SIR LAUNCELOT HEARD OF THE ^. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^j^^ g^^^ ,^^^^j^ ^^ ^^^ 

DEATH OF KING ARTHUR, AND OF SIR j^^j] ^^^ ^j^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ gj^ Gawaine 

GAWAINE, AND OTHER MATTERS, HE CAME ^^gj^i^.S^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^.^ Mordrcd 

INTO ENGLAND ^ ionght with the king upon Barham Down, 

And when he heard in his country that and there the king put Sir Mordred to the 

Sir Mordred was crowned king in Eng- worse. * Alas,' said Sir Launcelot, * this 

land, and made war against King Arthur, is the heaviest tidings that ever came to 

his own father, and would let him to land 55 me. Now, fair sirs,' said Sir Launce- 

in his own land; also it was told Sir lot, 'shew me the tomb of Sir Gawaine.' 

Launcelot how that Sir Mordred had laid And then certain people of the town 

siege about the Tower of London, because brought him into the Castle of Dover, and 



LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 



29 



shewed him the tomb. Then Sir Launce- she swooned thrice, that all the ladies 
lot kneeled down and wept, and prayed and gentlewomen had work enough to 
heartily for his soul. And that night he hold the queen up. So when she might 
made a dole, and all they that would speak, she called ladies and gentlewomen 
come had as much flesh, fish, wine and 5 to her, and said : * Ye marvel, fair ladies, 
ale, and every, man and woman had twelve why I make this fare. Truly,' she said, 
pence, come who would. Thus with his * it is for the sight of yonder knight that 
own hand dealt he this money, in a yonder standeth; wherefore I pray you 
mourning gown; and ever he wept, and all call him to me.' When Sir Launcelot 
prayed them to pray for the soul of Sir 10 was brought to her, then she said to all 
Gawaine. And on the morn all the the ladies : ' Through this man and me 
priests and clerks that might be gotten in hath all this war been wrought, and the 
the country were there, and sang mass of death of the most noblest knights of the 
Requiem; and there offered first Sir Laun- v^^orld; for through our love that we have 
celot, and he offered an hundred pound ; 15 loved together is my most noble lord 
and then the seven kings offered forty slain. Therefore, Sir Launcelot, wit thou 
pound apiece; and also there was a thou- well I am set in such a plight to get my 
sand knights, and each of them offered a soul-heal; and yet I trust through God's 
pound; and the oft'ering dured from morn grace that after my death to have a sight 
till night, and Sir Launcelot lay two 20 of the blessed face of Christ, and at 
nights on his tomb in prayers and weep- doomsday to sit on his right side, for as 
ing. Then on the third day Sir Launcelot sinful as ever I was are saints in heaven, 
called the kings, dukes, earls, barons, and Therefore, Sir Launcelot, I require thee 
knights, and said thus : ' My fair lords, I and beseech thee heartily, for all the love 
thank you all of your coming into this 25 that ever was betwixt us, that thou never 
country with me, but we came too late, see me more in the visage; and I com- 
and that shall repent me while I live, but mand thee, on God's behalf, that thou 
against death may no man rebel. But forsake my company, and to thy kingdom 
sithen it is so,' said Sir Launcelot, ' I will thou turn again, and keep well thy realm 
myself ride and seek my lady, Queen 30 from war and wrack ; for as well as I have 
Guenever, for as I hear say she hath had loved thee, mine heart will not serve me 
great pain and much disease ; and I heard to see thee, for through thee and me is 
say that she is fled into the West. There- the flower of kings and knights destroyed ; 
fore ye all shall abide me here, and but therefore. Sir Launcelot, go to thy realm, 
if I come again within fifteen days, then 35 and there take thee a wife, and live with 
take your ships and your fellowship, and her with joy and bliss; and I pray thee 
depart into your country, for I will do as heartily, pray for me to our Lord that I 
I say to you.' may amend my misliving.' ' Now, sweet 

madam,' said Sir Launcelot, ' would ye 

CHAPTER IX 40 that I should now return again unto my 

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT DEPARTED TO SEEK ^ou^try, and there towed a lady ? Nay, 

THE QUEEN GUENEVER, AND HOW HE "'^^^™' 7"'^ ^oU wcU that shall I never 

FOUND HER AT ALMESBURY ^°' ,f°', \ ^^^^" never be SO false to you 

ot that i have promised; but the same 
Then came Sir Bors de Ganis, and 45 destiny that ye have taken you to, I will 
said : ' My lord. Sir Launcelot, what take me unto, for to please Jesu, and ever 
think ye for to do, now to ride in this for you I cast me specially to p'ray.' ' If 
realm ? wit ye well ye shall find few thou wilt do so,' said the queen, * hold thy 
friends,' ' Be as be may,' said Sir Laun- promise, but I may never believe but that 
celot, ' keep you still here, for I will 5© thou wilt turn to the world again.' ' Well, 
forth on my journey, and no man nor madam,' said he, ' ye say as pleaseth you' 
child shall go with me.' So it was no yet wist you me never false of my prom- 
boot to strive, but he departed and rode ise, and God defend but I should forsake 
v^esterly, and there he sought a seven or the world as ye have done. For in the 
eight days ; and at the last he came to a 55 quest of the Sangreal I had forsaken the 
nunnery, and then was Queen Guenever vanities of the world had not your lord 
ware of Sir Launcelot as he walked in the been. And if I had done so at that time, 
cloister. And when she saw him there with my heart, will, and thought, I had 



30 



SIR THOMAS MALORY 



passed all the knights that were in the Thus the great host abode at Dover. 

Sangreal except Sir Galahad, my son. And then Sir Lionel took fifteen lords 
And therefore, lady, sithen ye have taken with him, and rode to London to seek Sir 
you to perfection, I must needs take me to Launcelot; and there Sir Lionel was slain 
perfection, of right. For I take record of 5 and many of his lords. Then Sir Bors 
God, in you I have had mine earthly joy; de Ganis made the great host for to go 
and if I had found you now so disposed, home again; and Sir Bors, Sir Ector de 
I had cast to have had you into mine Maris, Sir Blamore, Sir Bleoberis, with 
own realm. more other of Sir Launcelot's kin, took on 

10 them to ride all England overthwart and 

endlong, to seek Sir Launcelot. So Sir 
CHAPTER X Bors by fortune rode so long till he came 

to the same chapel where Sir Launcelot 

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME TO THE HER- ^^^^ . ^^^ ^^ gj^. g^^^ j^^^^^ ^ j-^^j^ ^^jj 
MITAGE WHERE THE ARCHBISHOP OF ^^ ,.^^^jj^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ . ^^^ ^j^^^^ ^^ 

CANTERBURY WAS, AND HOW HE TOOK ^y^^^^^^^ ^^^ heard mass. And when 
THE HABIT ON HIM mass was done, the bishop, Sir Lavuice- 

' But sithen I find you thus disposed, I lot, and Sir Bedivere, came to Sir Bors. 
ensure you faithfully, I will ever take me And when Sir Bors saw Sir Launcelot in 
to penance, and pray while my life last- 20 that manner clothing, then he prayed the 
eth, if I may find any hermit, either gray Bishop that he might be in the same suit. 
or white, that will receive me. Where- And so there was an habit put upon him, 
fore, madam, I pray you kiss me and and there he lived in prayers and fasting, 
never no more.' ' Nay/ said the queen, And within half a year, there was come Sir 
' that shall I never do, but abstain you 25 Galihud, Sir Galihodin, Sir Blamore, Sir 
from such works ; ' and they departed. Bleoberis, Sir Villiars, Sir Clarras, and 
But there was never so hard an hearted Sir Gahalantine. So all these seven no- 
man but he would have wept to see the ble knights there abode still. And when 
dolor that they made ; for there was lam- they saw Sir Launcelot had taken him to 
entation as they had been stung with 30 such perfection, they had no lust to de- 
spears ; and many times they swooned, part, but took such an habit as he had. 
and the ladies bare the queen to her cham- Thus they endured in great penance six 
ber. years ; and then Sir Launcelot took the 

And Sir Launcelot awoke, and went habit of priesthood of the bishop, and a 
and took his horse, and rode all that day 35 twelvemonth he sang mass. And there 
and all night in a forest, weeping. And was none of these other knights but they 
at the last he was ware of an hermitage read in books, and holp for to sing mass, 
and a chapel stood betwixt two cliffs ; and and rang bells, and did bodily all manner 
then he heard a little bell ring to mass, of service. And so their horses went 
and thither he rode and alighted, and tied 40 where they would, for they took no regard 
his horse to the gate, and heard mass, of no worldly riches. For when they saw 
And he that sang m.ass was the Bishop Sir Launcelot endure such penance, in 
of Canterbury. Both the bishop and Sir prayers, and fastings, they took no force 
Bedivere knew Sir Launcelot, and they what pain they endured, for to see the no- 
spake together after mass. But when Sir 45 blest knight of the world take such ab- 
Bedivere had told his tale all whole. Sir stinence that he waxed full lean. And 
Launcelot's heart almost brast for sorrow, thus upon a night, there came a vision to 
and Sir Launcelot threw his arms abroad. Sir Launcelot, and charged him, in re- 
and said : ' Alas, who may trust this mission of his sins, to haste him unto 
world.' And then he kneeled down on 50 Almesbury : 'And by then thou come 
his knee, and prayed the bishop to shrive there, thou shalt find Queen Guenever 
him and assoil him. And then he be- dead. And therefore take thy fellows 
sought the bishop that he might be his with thee, and purvey them of an horse 
brother. Then the bishop said : ' I will bier, and fetch thou the corpse of her, 
gladly ' ; and there he put an habit upon 55 and bury her by her husband, the noble 
Sir Launcelot, and there he served God King Arthur.' So this avision came to 
day and night with prayers and fastings. Sir Launcelot thrice in one night. 



LE MORTE D' ARTHUR 31 



CHAPTER XI and awaked him, and said: 'Ye be to 

^ „ „,^ blame, for ye displease God with such 

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT WENT WITH HIS ^^„„' ^f i^ 1 ■ > < t- i ) j 

o rr^.r .^rr. Hianner of sorrow-makmsf/ Truly, said 

SEVEN FELLOWS TO ALMESBURY, AND c'T i^'Ti. ^.tj xj-i 

FOUND THERE QUEEN GUENEVER DEAD, , f!'^T''^\ ^ '^"f ^ .^° "°', ^'f'^'' 

WHOM THEY BROUGHT TO GLASTONBURY ^ ^od, for he knoweth mme intent. For 

my sorrow was not, nor is not, for any 

Then Sir Launcelot rose up or day, rejoicing of sin, but my sorrow may never 
and told the hermit. ' It were well done,' have end. For when I remember of her 
said the hermit, ' that ye made you ready, beauty, and of her noblesse, that was both 
and that you disobey not the avision.' lo with her king and with her, so when I 
Then Sir Launcelot took his seven fellows saw his corpse and her corpse so lie to- 
with him, and on foot they yede from gether, truly mine heart would not serve 
Glastonbury to Almesbury, the which is to sustain my careful body. Also when I 
little more than thirty mile. And thither remember me how by my default, mine 
they came within two days, for they were 15 orgulity, and my pride, that they were 
weak and feeble to go. And when Sir both laid full low, that were peerless that 
Launcelot was come to Almesbury within ever was living of christian people, wit 
the nunnery. Queen Guenever died but you well,' said Sir Launcelot, ' this re- 
half an hour afore. And the ladies told membered, of their kindness and mine un- 
Sir Launcelot that Queen Guenever told 20 kindness, sank so to mine heart, that I 
them all or she passed, that Sir Launce- might not sustain myself.' So the French 
lot had been priest near a twelvemonth, book maketh mention. 
' And hither he cometh as fast as he may 

to fetch my corpse ; and beside my lord, CHAPTER XII 

King Arthur, he shall bury me.' Where- 25 

r *^,, ' • J • t, • f ^.1 .^ 11 . HOW SIR LAUNCELOT BEGAN TO SICKEN, ANL 

fore the queen said in hearing 01 tnem all : ' 

i T -L 1, A 1 • Ui r- ^ 4.U 4- T ™ AFTER DIED, WHOSE BODY WAS BORNE TO 

I beseech Almighty God that I may ' 

1 '^ / c- T ^ i. JOYOUS CARD FOR TO BE BURIED 

never have power to see Sir Launcelot •* 

with my worldly eyes.' ' And thus,' said Then Sir Launcelot never after ate but 

all the ladies, ' was ever her prayer these 3° little meat, ne drank, till he was dead, 
two days, till she was dead.' Then Sir For then he sickened more and more, and 
Launcelot saw her visage, but he wept dried, and dwined away. For the bishop 
not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all nor none of his fellows might not make 
the observance of the service himself, both him to eat, and little he drank, that he was 
the Dirige, and on the morn he sang mass. 35 waxen by a cubit shorter than he was, that 
And there was ordained an horse bier ; the people could not know him. For ever- 
and so with an hundred torches ever bren- more, day and night, he prayed, but some- 
ning about the corpse of the queen, and time he slumbered a broken sleep ; ever he 
ever Sir Launcelot with his seven fellows was lying groveling on the tomb of King 
went about the horse bier, singing and 40 Arthur and Queen Guenever. And there 
reading many an holy orison, and frankin- was no comfort that the bishop, nor Sir 
cense upon the corpse incensed. Thus Bors, nor none of his fellows, could make 
Sir Launcelot and his seven fellows went him, it availed not. So within six weeks 
on foot from Almesbury unto Glastonbury, after, Sir Launcelot fell sick, and lay in 
And when they were come to the chapel 45 his bed; and then he sent for the Bishop 
and the hermitage, there she had a Dirige, that there vv^as hermit, and all his true 
with great devotion. And on the morn, fellows. Then Sir Launcelot said with 
the hermit that sometime was Bishop of dreary steven : ' Sir Bishop, I pray you 
Canterbury sang the mass of Requiem give, to me all my rites that longeth to a 
with great devotion. And Sir Launcelot 5o christian man.' * It shall not need you,' 
was the first that offered, and then also said the hermit and all his fellows, ' it 
his seven fellows. And then she was is but heaviness of your blood ; ye shall 
wrapped in cered cloth of Raines, from be well mended by the grace of God to- 
the top to the toe, in thirtyfold ; and after morn.' ' My fair lords,' said Sir Laun- 
she was put in a web of lead, and then in 55 celot, ' wit you well my careful body will 
a coffin of marble. And when she was into the" earth, I have warning more than 
put in the earth, Sir Launcelot swooned, now I will say; therefore give me my 
and lay long gtill, while the hermit came rites.' So when he was houseled and 



32 SIR THOMAS MALORY 



anealed, and had all that a christian man so lie with open visage till that they were 
ought to have, he prayed the bishop that buried. And right thus as they were at 
his fellows might bear his body to Joyous their service, there came Sir Ector de 
Card. Some men say it was Alnwick, Maris, that had seven years sought all 
and some men say it was Bamborough. 5 England, Scotland, and Wales, seeking 
' Howbeit,' said Sir Launcelot, ' me re- his brother. Sir Launcelot. 
penteth sore, but I made mine avow some- 
time, that in Joyous Card I would be CHAPTER XIII 
buried. And because of breaking of mine 

avow, I pray you all, lead me thither.' lo how sir ector found sir launcelot his 
Then there was weeping and wringing brother dead, and how constantine 
of hands among his fellows. reigned next after Arthur; and of 

So at a season of the night they all went '^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^o°^ 
to their beds, for they all lay in one cham- And when Sir Ector heard such noise 
ber. And so after midnight, against day, i5 and light in the quire of Joyous Card, he 
the bishop [that] then was hermit, as he alighted and put his horse from him, and 
lay in his bed asleep, he fell upon a great came into the quire, and there he saw 
laughter. And therewith all the fellow- men sing and weep. And all they knew 
ship awoke, and came to the bishop, and Sir Ector, but he knew not them. Then 
asked him what he ailed. ' Ah, Jesu 20 went Sir Bors unto Sir Ector, and told 
mercy,' said the bishop, ' why did ye him how there lay his brother. Sir Laun- 
awake me? I was never in all my life celot, dead; and then Sir Ector threw his 
so merry and so well at ease.' ' Where- shield, sword, and helm from him. And 
fore?' said Sir Bors. 'Truly,' said the when he beheld Sir Launcelot's visage, 
bishop, ' here was Sir Launcelot with me 25 he fell down in a swoon. And when he 
with more angels than ever I saw men in waked, it were hard any tongue to tell the 
one day. And I saw the angels heave up doleful complaints that he made for his 
Sir Launcelot unto heaven, and the gates brother. ' Ah Launcelot,' he said, ' thou 
of heaven opened against him.' ' It is but were head of all christian knights, and 
dretching of swevens,' said Sir Bors, ' for 3° now I dare say,' said Sir Ector, ' thou Sir 
I doubt not Sir Launcelot aileth nothing Launcelot, there thou liest, that thou were 
but good.' ' It may well be,' said the never matched of earthly knight's hand. 
Bishop ; ' go ye to his bed, and then shall And thou were the courteoust knight that 
ye prove the sooth.' So when Sir Bors ever bare shield. And thou were the 
and his fellows came to his bed, they 35 truest friend to thy lover that ever 
found him stark dead, and he lay as he bestrad horse. And thou were the tru- 
had smiled, and the sweetest savor about est lover of a sinful man that ever 
him that ever they felt. loved woman. And thou were the kindest 

Then was there weeping and wringing man that ever struck with sword. And 
of hands, and the greatest dole they made 4° thou were the goodliest person that ever 
that ever made men. And on the morn came among press of knights. And thou 
the bishop did his mass of Requiem; and was the meekest man and the gentlest 
after, the bishop and all the nine knights that ever ate in hall among ladies. And 
put Sir Launcelot in the same horse bier thou were the sternest knight to thy mor- 
that Queen Guenever was laid in to-fore 45 tal foe that ever put spear in the rest.' 
that she was buried. And so the bishop Then there was weeping and dolor out 
and they all together went with the body of measure. 

of Sir Launcelot daily, till they came to Thus they kept Sir Launcelot's corpse 

Joyous Card; and ever they had an hun- aloft fifteen days, and then they buried it 
drsd torches brenning about him. And so 5o with great devotion. And then at leisure 
within fifteen days they came to Joyous they went all with the Bishop of Canter- 
Gard. And there they laid his corpse in bury to his hermitage, and there they were 
the body of the quire, and sang and read together more than a month. Then Sir 
many psalters and prayers over him and Constantine, that was Sir Cador's son of 
about him. And ever his visage was laid 55 Cornwall, was chosen king of England, 
open and naked, that all folks might be- And he was a full noble knight, and wor- 
hold him. For such was the custom in shipfully he ruled this realm. And then 
those days, that all men of worship should this King Constantine sent for the Bishop 



LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 33 



of Canterbury, for he heard say where he Round Tdble, that zthen they were whole 
was. And so he M^as restored unto his together, there was ever an hundred and 
bishopric, and left that hermitage. And forty. And here is the end of the death 
Sir Bedivere was i;;r. . l ■ :• -uill herniit of .'Ir'Jnir. I pray you all, gentlenun and 
to his hfe's end. lii-:' S r iJorb dc <:t-:iL ivunien that readeth this book of 
Ganis, Sir Ector df; '\:.--- - r Cai.ai..-.; irliiur and his knights, from the begin- 

tine, Sir Gahhud, -" . -iiodm. bir '.rag to the ending, pray for mc while I 

Blaraore, Sir Bleobcii;-, mi ViLiars le 'jni aiivc, that God send me good deliver- 
VaUant, Sir Clarrus of Clermont, all these ance, and when I am dead, I pray you all 
knights drew them to their countries. 10 pray for my soul. For this book was 
Howbeit King Constantine would have ended the ninth year of the reign of King 
had them with him, but they would n'"t Edward the Fourth, by Sir Thomas Ma~ 
abide in this realm. And there they all leore, knight, as Jesu help him for his 
lived in , their countries as holy men. great might, as he is the servant of Jesu 
And some English books make mention 15 both day and night. 
that they went never out of England after 

the death of Sir Launcelot, but that was Thus endeth this noble and joyous book 

but favor of makers. For the French entitled Le Morte Darthur. Notwith- 
book maketh mention, and is authorized, standing it treatcth of the birth, life, and 
that Sir Bors, Sir Ector, Sir Blamore, 20 acts of the said King Arthur, of his noble 
and Sir Bleoberis, went into the Holy knights of the Round Table, their marvel- 
Land thereas Jesu Christ was quick and oiis enqucsts and adr'entures, the achiev- 
dead, and anon as they had stablished ing of the Sangreal, and in the end the 
theif lands. For the book saith, so Sir dolorous death and departing out of this 
Launcelot commanded them for to do, or 25 world of them all. Which book was re- 
ever he passed out of this world. And duced into English by Sir Thomas Malory, 
these four knights did many battles upon knight, as afore is said, and by me divided 
the miscreants or Turks. And there they into twenty-one books, chaptered and en- 
died upon a Good Friday for God's sake, printed, and finished in the abbey, West- 
minster, the last day of July, the year of 
Here is the end of the book of King our Lord MCCCCLXXXV. 
Arthur, and of his noble knights of the Caxton me fieri fecit. 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID (c. 1500) 

This charming auonymous lyric, worthy in itself of a conspicuous place in any survey of 
English poetry, serves significantly as a link between an earlier and a later period. In its 
sug-gestiqn of the ' debat ' form, it recalls the middle ages ; in versification and sentiment, it is 
definitely modern. 



THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE 



a labour 
dele they 



'Be it right or wrong, these men among on 

women do complaine, 
Afifermyng this, how that it is 

spent in vaine 
To love them wele, for never a 

love a man agayne; 
For lete a man do what he can ther favour 

to attayne, 
Yet yf a newe do them pursue, ther furst 

trew lover than 5 

Laboureth for nought, and from her thought 

he is a bannished man.' 

'I say not nay but that all day it is bothe 

writ and sayde 
That woman's fayth is, as who sayth, all 

utterly decayed ; 
But nevertheless, right good witnes in this 

case might be layde. 
That they love trewe and contynew, — recorde 

the Nutbrowne Maide, ^° 

Whiche from her love, whan, her to prove, 

he cam to make his mone, 
Wolde not departe, for in her herte she lovyd 

but hym allone.' 

' Than betwene us lete us discusse what was 

all the maner 
Betwene them too, we wyl also telle all the 

peyne and fere 
That she was in. Now I begynne, see that 

ye me answere. '5 

Wherefore [all] ye that present be, I pray 

you geve an care. 
I am a knyght, I cum be nyght, as secret as 

I can, 
Sayng, " Alas ! thus stondyth the case : I am 

a bannisshed man." ' 

'And I your wylle for to fulfylle, in this 
wyl not refuse, 



Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe, that men 

have an ille use, ^o 

To ther owne shame wymen to blame, and 

causeles them accuse. 
Therfore to you I ariswere now, alle wymen 

to excuse : 
" Myn own hert dere, with you what chiere? 

I prey you telle anoon ; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love 

but you allon."' 

' It stondith so, a deed is do wherof moche 

harme shal growe. 25 

My desteny is for to dey a shamful dethe, 

I trowe. 
Or ellis to flee; the ton must bee, none other 

wey I knowe 
But to withdrawe as an outlaw and take me 

to my bowe. 
Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe, none 

other red I can ; 
For I muste to the grene wode goo, alone, 

a bannysshed man.'' 3o 

' O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse, that 
chaungeth as the mone? 

My somers day in lusty May is derked be- 
fore the none. 

I here you saye " farwel ; " nay, nay, we de- 
parte not soo sone. 

Why say ye so ? wheder wyl ye goo ? alas ! 
what have ye done? 

Alle my welfare to sorow and care shulde 
chaunge if ye were gon; 35 

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love 
but you alone.' 

' I can beleve it shal you greve, and som- 

what you distrayne ; 
But aftyrwarde your paynes harde within a 

day or tweyne 
Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take confort 

to you agayne. 



34 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID 



35 



Why shuld ye nought? for to take thought, 
your labur were in vayne. 4o 

And thus I do, and pray you, too, as hertely 
as I can ; 

For 1 muste too the grene wode goo, alone, 
a bannysshed man.' 

' Now syth that ye have shewed to me the 

secret of your mynde, 
T shalbe playne to you agayne, lyke as ye 

shal me fynde; 
Syth it is so that ye wyll goo, I wol not leve 

behynde ; 45 

Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd 

was to her love itnkind. 
Make you redy, for soo am I, all though it 

were anoon ; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Yet I you rede to take good hede, what 

men wyl thinke and sey; 
Of yonge and olde it shal be told that ye be 

gone away, so 

Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle, in grene 

wood you to play, 
And that ye myght from your delyte noo 

lenger make delay. 
Rather than ye shuld thus for me be called 

an ylle woman. 
Yet wolde I to the grenewodde goo, alone, 

a banysshed man.' 

'Though it be songe of olde and yonge 

that I shuld be to blame, 55 

Theirs be the charge that speke so large in 

hurting of my name; 
For I wyl prove that feythful love it is de- 

voyd of shame. 
In your distresse and hevynesse to parte 

wyth you the same ; 
And sure all thoo that doo not so, trewe 

lovers ar they noon ; 
But in my mynde of all mankynde I love 

but you alone.' 6o 

'I counsel yow, remembre how it is noo 

maydens lawe 
Nothing to dought, but to renne out to wod 

with an outlawe ; 
For ye must there in your hande here a 

bowe to bere and drawe. 
And as a theef thus must ye lyeve ever in 

drede and awe, 
By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow; 

yet had I lever than 6s 

That I had too the grenewod goo, alone, a 

banysshyd man.' 



' I thinke not nay, but as ye saye, it is noo 

maydens lore ; 
But love may make me for your sake, as ye 

have said before, 
To com on fote, to hunte and shote to gete 

us mete and store ; 
For soo that I your company may have, I 

aske noo more; 7° 

From whiche to parte, it makith myn herte 

as colde as ony ston ; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' For an outlawe this is the lawe, that men 

hym take and binde, 
Wythout pytee hanged to bee, and waver 

wyth the wynde. 
Yf I had neede, as God forbede, what res- 

cous coude ye finde? 75 

For sothe I trowe, you and your bowe shuld 

drawe for fere behynde ; 
And noo merveyle, for lytel avayle were in 

your councel than ; 
Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo, alone, 

a banysshed man.' 

' Ful wel knowe ye that wymen bee ful febyl 

for to fyght; 
Noo womanhed is it indeede to bee bolde 

as a knight; 8o 

Yet in suche fere yf that ye were, amonge 

enemys day and nyght, 
I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande, to 

greeve them as I myght, 
And you to save, as wymen have, from deth 

many one; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Yet take good hede, for ever I drede that 

ye coude not sustein 85 

The thorney wayes, the depe valeis, the 

snowe, the frost, the reyn, 
The colde, the hete ; for, drye or wete, we 

must lodge on the playn. 
And, us aboove, noon other rove but a brake, 

bussh, or twayne; 
Whiche sone shulde greve you, I beleve, and 

ye wolde gladly than 
That I had too the grenewode goo, alone, 

a banysshyd man.' 9° 

'Syth I have here been partynere with you 

of joy and blysse, 
I muste also parte of your woo endure, as 

reason is: 
Yet am I sure of 00 plesure, and shortly it 

is this, 



36 



THE NUT-BROWN MAiD 



That where ye bee, me semeth, perde, I 

coude not fare amysse. 
Wythout more speche, I you beseche that we 

'/vere soon agone ; 95 

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider, whan 

ye have lust to dyne, 
Ther shel no mete be fore to gete, nor 

drinke, bere, ale, ne wine, 
Ne shetis clene to lye betwene, made of thred 

and twyne. 
Noon other house but levys and bowes, to 

kever your hed and myn. J°° 

Loo ! myn herte swete, this ylle dyet shuld 

make you pale and wan ; 
Wherfore I to the wood wyl goo, alone, a 

banysshid man.' 

* Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier 

as men say that ye bee 

Ne may not fayle of good vitayle, where is 
so grete plente ; 

And watir cleere of the ryvere shal be ful 
swete to me, los 

Wyth whiche in hele I shal right wele en- 
dure, as ye shal see ; 

And, er we goo, a bed or too I can provide 
anoon ; 

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 
you alone.' 

* Loo ! yet before ye must doc more, yf ye 

wyl goo with me, — 
As cutte your here up by your ere, your 

kirtel by the knee, 'i° 

Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstonde your 

enmys, yf nede be. 
And this same nyght before daylight to 

woodward wyl I flee ; 
And if ye wyl all this fulfylle, doo it shortely 

as ye can ; 
Ellis wil I to the grenewode goo, alone, a 

banysshyd man.' 

' I shal, as now, do more for you than long- 
eth to womanhede, '^s 

To short my here, a bowe to bere to shote 
in tyme of nede. 

O my swete moder, before all other, for you 
have I most drede ; 

But now adiew ! I must ensue, wher for- 
tune duth me leede : 

All this make ye; now lete us flee, the day 
cums fast upon ; 

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 
you alone.' ^" 



' Nay, nay, not soo, ye shal not, goo ! and 

I shal telle you why : 
Your appetyte is to be lyght of love, I wele 

aspie ; 
For right as ye have sayd to me, in lyke- 

wise hardely 
Ye wolde answere, whosoever it were, in 

way of company. 
It is sayd of olde, " sone hote, sone colde," 

and so is a woman; '25 

Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo, alone, 

a banysshid man.' 

' Yef ye take hede, yet is noo nede, suche 

wordis to say bee me. 
For oft ye preyd, and longe assayed, or I 

you lovid, perde ! 
And though that I of auncestry a barons 

doughter bee. 
Yet have you proved how I you loved, a 

squyer of lowe degree, 130 

And ever shal, what so befalle, to dey ther- 

fore anoon ; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' A barons childe to be begyled, it were a 

curssed dede, 
To be felaw with an outlawe, almyghty 

God forbede ! 
Yet bettyr were the power squyer alone to 

forest yede, '35 

Than ye shal saye, another day, that be my 

wyked dede 
Ye were betrayed ; wherfore, good maide, 

the best red that I can. 
Is that I too the greenewode goo, alone, a 

banysshed man.' 

' Whatsoever befalle, I never shal of this 

thing you upbraid; 
But yf ye goo and leve me so, than have 

ye me betraied. >4o 

Remembre you wele how that ye dele, for 

yf ye, as ye sayde. 
Be so unkynde to leve behynd your love, 

the Notbrowne Maide, 
Trust me truly that I shal dey sone after ye 

be gone; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent, for in 
the forest now ^45 

I have purveid me of a maide, whom I love 
more than you, — 

Another fayrer than ever ye were, I dare 
it wel avow* : 



THE NUT-BROWN MAID 



37 



And of you bothe, eche shulde be wrothe with 

other, as I trovve. 
It were myn ease to lyve in pease; so wyl 

I, yf I can ; 
Wherfore I to the wode wyl goo, alone, a 

banyssbid man.' iso 

* Though in the wood I undirstode ye had a 

paramour, 
All this may nought remeve my thought, but 

that I wil be your ; 
And she shal fynde me soft and kynde, and 

curteis every our, 
Glad to fulfylle all that she wylle com- 

maunde me, to my power ; 
For had ye, loo ! an hundred moo, yet wolde 

I be that one; ^55 

For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Myn oune dere love, I see the prove that ye 

be kynde and trewe; 
Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf, the best 

that ever I knewe ! 
Be mery and glad, be no more sad, the case 

is chaunged newe ; 
For it were ruthe that for your trouth you 

shuld have cause to rewe. i6o 

Be not dismayed, whatsoever I sayd, to you 

whan I began, 
I wyl not too the grenewod goo, I am noo 

banysshyd man.' 

'Theis tidingis be more glad to me than to 
be made a quene, 



Yf I were sure they shuld endure ; but it is 

often seen, 
When men wyl breke promyse, they speke 

the wordis on the splene. 165 

Ye shape some wyle, me to begyle, and stele 

fro me, I wene. 
Then were the case wurs than it was, and I 

more woo-begone ; 
For in my mynde of all mankynde I love but 

you alone.' 

' Ye shall not nede further to drede, I wyl 

not disparage 
You, God defende, sith you descende of so 

grete a lynage. 17° 

Nou understonde, to Westmerlande, whiche 

is my herytage, 
I wyle you bringe, and wyth a rynge, be wey 

of maryage, 
I wyl you take, and lady make, as shortly 

as I can ; 
Thus have ye wone an eries son, and not 

a banysshyd man.' 

Here may ye see that wymen be in love 

meke, kinde, and stable, '75 

Late never man repreve them than, or calle 

them variable. 
But rather prey God that we may to them 

be confortable, 
Whiche somtyme provyth suche as he loveth, 

yf they be charitable. 
For sith men wolde that wymen sholde be 

meke to them echeon, 
Moche more ought they to God obey, and 

serve but hym alone. 180 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 

The popular ballad is a short, anonymous poem, in simple meter, recounting a simple narra- 
tive, and adapted, originally, for singing to a recurrent melody. The true ballad shows no 
traces of individual authorship : the story is told impersonally, without a suggestion of senti- 
ment or reflection from the story-teller. Ballads originate in a nai've, homogeneous community, 
and it may fairly be said that they are composed not by any individual, but by the com- 
munity as a whole. Ballads are to be thought of as beginning, ultimately and normally, in 
a choral throng, in which, to the accompaniment of dancing and singing, one person after 
another contributes an improvised verse, couplet, or short stanza to a simple but ever increas- 
ing story. The story grows by ' incremental repetition ' ; that is, in his improvisation, each 
singer in succession both repeats a part of the preceding improvisation and adds to the story 
a new element of his own. After contributing their bits to the narrative, the several singers 
disappear as individuals, leaving as a result a simple narrative poem, which is henceforth 
regarded as the composition not of one person or of particular persons, but of the gathering 
as a whole. Although such a process of composition can be securely inferred, no extant ballad 
shows so simple a form as would result immediately from such communal authorship. Since 
all true ballads are transmitted orally, variations in style and alterations of the narrative are 
inevitable; and the hand of a dominating individual may often be inferred. A large propor- 
tion of the ballads actually preserved do, however, bear unmistakable marks of their ultimate 
choral and community origin, and all ballads worthy of the name are the actual possession of 
the folk as a whole. 

From the fact that ballads are transmitted orally, and are committed to writing only by 
happy accident, the body of preserved and published ballads of any people will represent, 
inevitably, only a small proportion of the whole sum of ballads produced during the history 
of that people. The English language, including Scottish, is fortunate in the preservation 
of at least three hundred and six ballads. Although the greater part of these ballads are 
recorded only in comparatively modern documents, many of the stories themselves are of very 
ancient origin. The oldest English ballad completely recorded dates from the thirteenth cen- 
tury. The most important of ballad manuscripts, — the so-called Percy Folio, — was written 
about the year 1650. Only some eleven of our ballads are preserved in docuipents older than 
the seventeenth century. 

On the theory of ' communal authorship ' one can readily explain the chief formal charac- 
teristics of popular ballads : refrain, repetition, and dialogue. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF 

GISBORNE 

1. When shawes beene sheene, and shradds 

full fayre, 
And leeves both large and longe. 
It is merry, walking in the fayre fforrest, 
To heare the small birds songe. 

2. The woodweele sang, and wold not 

cease, s 

Amongst the leaves a lyne; 
And it is by two wight yeomen. 
By deare God, that I meane. 

3. ' Me thought they did mee beate and 

binde, 
And tooke my bowe mee froe; 10 



If I bee Robin alive in this lande, 
rie be wrocken on both them to we.' 

4. ' Sweavens are swift, master,' quoth 

John, 
' As the wind that blowes ore a hill ; 
Ffor if itt be never soe lowde this night. 
To-morrow it may be still.' ^6 

5. * Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men 

all, 
Ffor John shall goe with mee; 
For rie goe seeke yond wight yeomen 
In greenwood where they bee.' 20 

6. They cast on their gowne of greene, 

A shooting gone are they. 



ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE 



39 



Untill they came to the nTerry green- 
wood, 
Where they had gladdest bee; 
There were they ware of a wight yeo- 
man, ^S 
His body leaned to a tree. 

7. A sword and a dagger he wore by his 

side. 
Had beene many a mans bane, 
And he was cladd in his capull-hyde, 
Topp, and tayle, and mayne. 30 

8. ' Stand you still, master,' quoth Litle 

John, 
* Under this trusty tree, 
And I will goe to yond wight yeoman, 
To know his meaning trulye.' 

9. ' A, John, by me thou setts noe store, 35 

And that's a .ffarley thinge; 

How ofift send I my men beffore. 

And tarry my-selfe behinde? 

10. * It is noe cunning a knave to ken ; 

And a man but heare him speake 4° 
And itt were not for bursting of my 
bowe, 
John, I wold thy head breake.' 

11. But often words they breeden bale; 

That parted Robin and John. 
John is gone to Barnesdale, 45 

The gates he knowes eche one. 

12. And -when hee came to Barnesdale, 

Great heavinesse there hee hadd; 
He ffound two of his fellowes 
Were slaine both in a slade, 5° 

13. And Scarlett a-fifoote flyinge was, 

Over stockes and stone. 
For the sheriffe with seven score men 
Fast after him is gone. 

14. ' Yett one shoote I'le shoote,' sayes Litle 

John, 55 

' With Crist his might and mayne ; 
rie make yond fellow that flyes soe fast 
To be both glad and ffaine.' 

15. John bent up a good veiwe bow. 

And ffetteled him tQ shoote; 60 

The bow was made of a tender boughe, 
And fell downe to his foote. 

16. ' Woe worth thee, wicked wood,' sayd 

Litle John, 



' That ere thou grew on a tree ! 
Ffor this day thou art my bale, 65 

My boote when thou shold bee ! ' 

17. This shoote it was but looselye shott, 

The arrowe flew in vaine, 
And it mett one of the sherififes men ; 
Good William a Trent was slaine. 70 

18. It had beene better for William a Trent 

To hange upon a gallowe 
Then for to lye in the greenwoode, 
There slaine with an arrowe. 

19. And it is sayd, when men be mett, 75 

Six can doe more then three: 
And they have tane Litle John, 
And bound him fifast to a tree. 

20. ' Thou shalt be drawen by dale and 

downe,' quoth the sheriffe, 
' And hanged hye on a hill : ' 80 

' But thou may ffayle,' quoth Litle John, 
' If itt be Christs owne will.' 

21. Let us leave talking of Litle John, 

For hee is bound fast to a tree, 
And talke of Guy and Robin Hood ^s 
In the green woode where they bee. 

22. How these two yeomen together they 

mett. 
Under the leaves of lyne. 
To see what marchandise they made 
Even at that same time. 90 

23. ' Good morrow, good fellow,' quoth Sir 

Guy ; 
* Good morrow, good ffellow,' quoth 

hee; 
' Methinkes by this bow thou beares in 

thy hand, 
A good archer thou seems to bee.' 

24. ' I am wilful! of my way,' quoth Sir 

Guye, 95 

' And of my morning tyde : ' 
* I'le lead thee through the wood,' quoth 

Robin, 
' Good ffellow, I'le be thy guide.' 

25. ' I seeke an outlaw,' quoth Sir Guye, 

' Men call him Robin Hood ; 100 

I had rather meet with him upon a day 
Than forty pound of golde.' 

26. ' If you tow mett, itt wold be seene 

whether were better 



40 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



Afore yee did part awaye ; 
Let us some other pastime find, 
Good ffellow, I thee pray. 



105 



2"]. ' Let us some other masteryes make, 

And wee will walke in the woods even ; 

Wee may chance meet with Robin Hoode 

Att some unsett steven.' i'° 

28. They cutt them downe the summer 

shroggs 
Which grew both under a bryar, 
And sett them three score rood in twinn, 
To shoote the prickes full neare. 

29. 'Leade on, good ffellow,' sayd Sir Guye, 

'Lead on, I doe bidd thee:' i^^ 

' Nay, by my faith,' quoth Robin Hood, 
'The leader thou shalt bee.' 

30. The first good shoot that Robin ledd. 

Did not shoote an inch the pricke 
fifroe; 
Guy was an archer good enoughe, i^i 
But he cold neere shoote soe. 

31. The second shoote Sir Guy shott. 

He shott within the garlande; 
But Robin Hoode shott it better then 
hee, ^^s 

For he clove the good pricke-wande. 

32. 'Gods blessing on thy heart!' sayes 

Guye, 
' Goode ffellow, thy shooting is goode ; 
For an thy hart be as good as thy hands, 
Thou were better then Robin Hood. 

^3. 'Tell me thy name, good ffellow,' quoth 
Guy, ^31 

' Under the leaves of lyne : ' 
' Nay, by my faith,' quoth good Robin, 
'Till thou have told me thine.' 

34. 'I dwell by dale and downe,' quoth 

Guye, '3^ 

' And I have done many a curst turne ; 
And he that calles me by my right 
name, 
Calles me Guye of good Gysborne.' 

35. ' My dwelling is in the wood,' sayes 

Robin ; 
'By thee I set right nought; Ho 

My name is Robin Hood of Barnesdale, 
A ffellow thou has long sought.' 



36. He that had neither beene a kithe nor 

kin 
Might have scene a full fayre sight. 
To see how together these yeomen 

went, 14s 

With blades both browne and bright; 

37. To have scene how these yeomen to- 

gether fought 
Two bowers of a summers day ; 
Itt was neither Guy nor Robin Hood 
That ffettled them to flye away. ^so 

38. Robin was reacheles on a roote. 

And stumbled at that tyde. 
And Guy was quicke and nimble withall, 
And hitt him ore the left side. 

39. ' Ah, deere Lady ! ' sayd Robin Hoode, 

'Thou art both mother and may! is6 
I thinke it was never mans destinye 
To dye before his day.' 

40. Robin thought on Our Lady deere, 

And soone leapt up againe, 160 

And thus he came with an awkwarde 
stroke ; 
Good Sir Guy hee has slayne. 

41. He tooke Sir Guys head by the hayre, 

And sticked itt on his bowes end : 
' Thou hast beene traytor all thy liffe. 
Which thing must have an ende.' '66 

42. Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe. 

And nicked Sir Guy in the fface, 
That hee was never on a woman borne 
Cold tell who Sir Guye was. 170 

43. Sales, ' Lye there, lye there, good Sir 

Guye, 
And with me be not wrothe ; 
If thou have had the worse stroakes at 

my hand, 
Thou shalt have the better cloathe.' 

44. Robin did off his gowne of greene, ^75 

Sir Guye hee did it throwe; 

And hee put on that capull-hyde 

That cladd him topp to toe. 

45. ' The bowe, the arrowes, and litle home, 

And with me now I'le bears; '^^ 

Ffor now I will goe to Barnesdak* 
To see how my men doe ffare.' 

46. Robin sett Guyes home to his mouth, 

A lowd blast in it he did blow ; 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL 



41 



That beheard the sheriffe of Notting- 
ham, '^s 
As he leaned under a lowe. 

47. ' Hearken ! hearken ! ' sayd the sheriffe, 

' I heard noe tydings but good ; 
For yonder I heare Sir Guyes home 
blowe. 
For he hath slaine Robin Hoode. 190 

48. ' For yonder I heare Sir Guyes home 

blow, 
Itt blowes soe well in tyde, 
For yonder comes that wighty yeoman, 
Cladd in his capull-hyde. 

49. ' Come hither, thou good Sir Guy, 

Aske of mee what thou wilt have : ' 

' rie none of thy gold,' sayes Robin 

Hood, i9r 
' Nor I'le none of itt have. 

50. ' But now I have slaine the master,' he 

sayd, 
* Let me goe strike the knave ; 200 

This is all the reward I aske, 
Nor noe other will I have.' 

51. 'Thou art a madman,' said the shiriffe, 

' Thou sholdest have had a knights 
ffee; 
Seeing thy asking hath beene soe badd, 
Well granted it shall be.' 206 

52. But Litle John heard his master speake. 

Well he knew that was his steven ; 
* Now shall I be loset,' quoth Litle John, 
'With Christs might in heaven.' 210 

53. But Robin hee hyed him towards Litle 

John, 
Hee thought hee wold loose him 

belive ; 
The sheriffe and all his companye 
Fast after him did drive. 

54. ' Stand abacke ! stand abacke ! ' sayd 

Robin; 215 

'Why draw you mee soe neere? 
Itt was never the use in our countrye 
Ones shrift another shold heere.' 

55 But Robin pulled forth an Irysh kniffe, 
And losed John hand and ffoote, 220 
And gave him Sir Guyes bow in his 
hand. 
And bade it be his boote. 



56. But John tooke Guyes bow in his hand — 

His arrowes were rawstye by the 
roote ; 
The sherriffe saw Litle John draw a 
bow 225 

And ffettle him to shoote. 

57. Towards his house in Nottingam 

He filed full fast away, 
And soe did all his companye, 

Not one behind did stay. 230 

58. But he cold neither soe fast goe, 

Nor away soe fast runn. 
But Litle John, with an arrow broade, 
Did cleave his heart in twinn. 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND 
BURIAL 

1. When Robin Hood and Little John 

Down a down a down a down 
Went oer yon bank of broom. 

Said Robin Hood bold to Little John, 
' We have shot for many a pound.' 5 

Hey down, a down, a down. 

2. ' But I am not able to shoot one shot 

more. 
My broad arrows will not flee ; 
But I have a cousin lives down below. 
Please God, she will bleed me.' 1° 

3. Now Robin he is to fair Kirkly gone. 

As fast as he can win ; 
But before he came there, as we do hear, 
He was taken very ill. 

4. And when he came to fair Kirkly-hall, 

He knockd all at the ring, '6 

But none was so ready as his cousin 
herself 
For to let bold Robin in, 

5. * Will you please to sit down, cousin 

Robin,' she said, 
'And drink some beer with me?' 20 
' No, I will neither eat nor drink. 
Till I am blooded by thee.' 

6. ' Well, I have a room, cousin Robin,' 

she said, 
' Which you did never see, 
And if you please to walk therein, 25 
You blooded by me shall be.' 



42 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



7. She took him by the lily-white hand, 

And led him to a private room, 
And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, 
While one drop of blood would run 
down. 30 

8. She blooded him in a vein of the arm, 

And locked him up in the room ; 
Then did he bleed all the live-long day, 
Until the next day at noon. 

9. He then bethought him of a casement 

there, 3S 

Thinking for to get down; 
But was so weak he could not leap, 
He could not get him down. 

10. He then bethought him of his bugle- 

horn, 
Which hung low down to his knee ; 40 
He set his horn unto his mouth, 
And blew out weak blasts three. 

11. Then Little John, when hearing him, 

As he sat under a tree, 
* I fear my master is now near dead, 45 
He blows so wearily.' 

12. Then Little John to fair Kirkly is gone, 

As fast as he can dree; 
But when he came to Kirkly-hall, 
He broke locks two or three : so 

13. Until he came bold Robin to see, 

Then he fell on his knee; 
*A boon, a boon,' cries Little John, 
'Master, I beg of thee.' 

14. 'What is that boon,' said Robin Hood, 

' Little John, thou begs of me ? ' 56 
*It is to burn fair Kirkly-hall, 
And all their nunnery.' 

15. ' Now nay, now nay,' quoth Robin Hood, 

' That boon I '11 not grant thee ; 60 
I never hurt woman in all my life, 
Nor men in woman's company. 

16. ' I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 

Nor at mine end shall it be; 
But give me my bent bow in my hand, 65 

And a broad arrow I '11 let flee 
And where this arrow is taken up. 

There shall my grave digged be. 



And lay my bent bow by my side. 
Which was my music sweet ; 

And make my grave of gravel and green, 
Which is most right and meet. 



17. ' Lay me a green sod under my head, 
And another at my feet; 



70 



18. 'Let me have length and breadth 

enough, 7S 

With a green sod under my head ; 
That they may say, when I am dead. 
Here lies bold Robin Hood.' 

19. These words they readily granted him. 

Which did bold Robin please : ^° 

And there they buried bold Robin Hood, 
Within the fair Kirkleys. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN 

1. Yt felle abowght the. Lamasse tyde. 

Whan husbondes vpynnes ther haye, ., 
The dowghtye Dowglasse bo^vyhd hym 
to ryde, ^ .; 

In Ynglond to take a praye.^<*2^^ 

2. The yerlle of Fyffe, wythowghten stryffe. 

He bowynd hym over Sulway; 6 

The grete^wqlde ever to-gether ryde; 
That raysse they may rewe for aye. 

3. Over Hoppertope hyll they cam in. 

And so down by Rodclyffe crage ; i" 
Upon Grene Lynton they lighted dowyn, 
Styrande many a stage. 

4. And boldely brente Northomberlond, 

And haryed many a towyn; 
They dyd owr Ynglyssh men grete 
w range, iS_ 

To battell that were not bowyn. ^' .-vj^trj > » 

5. Then spake a fcerne upon the bent, 

Of comforte that was not colde. 
And sayd, ' We have brente Northom- 
berlond, 
We have all welth in holde. 20 

6. ' Now we have haryed all Bamborowe 

schyre, 
All the welth in the worlde have wee ; 
I rede we ryde to Newe Castell, 
So styll and stalworthlye.' 

7. Upon the morowe, when it was day, ^S 

The standerds schone fulle bryght ; 
To the Newe Castell they toke the waye. 
And thether they cam full ryght. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN 



43 



8. Syr Henry Perssy laye at the New 

Castell, 
I tell yow wythowtten drede ; so 

He had byn a march-man all hys dayes, 
And kepte Barwyke upon Twede. 

9. To the Newe Castell when they cam, 

The Skottes they cryde on hyght, ' 
' Syr Hary Perssy, and thow byste 
within, '?.'■, 35 

Com to the fylde, and fyght. 

10. ' For we have brente Northomberlonde, 

Thy erytage good and ryght. 
And syne my logeyng I have take, 
Wyth my brande dubbyd many a 
knyght' 4° 

11. Syr Harry Perssy cam to the walles, 

The Skottyssch oste for to se, 
And sayd, ' And thow hast brente North- 
omberlond, 
Full sore it rewyth me. 

12. ' Yf thou hast haryed all Bamborowe 

schyre, 45 

Thow hast done me grete envye; 
For the trespasse thow hast me done, 
The tone of us schall dye.' 

13. 'Where schall I byde the?' sayd the 

Dowglas, 
'Or where wylte thow com to me? ' 50 
'At Otterborne, in the hygh way, 
Tlier mast thow well logeed be. 



14. 



- ■-^- 



* The rbo full rekeles ther sche rinnes, 
To make the game and glee ; 

The fawken and the fesaunt both, 5S 

Amonge the holtes on hye. 



15. ' Ther mast thow have thy welth at wyll, 

Well looged ther mast be ; f\, /, '■ 

Yt schall not be long or I com the tyll,' 
Sayd Syr Harry Perssye, 60 

16. 'Ther schall I byde the,' sayd the Dow- 

glas, 
' By the fayth of my bodye.' 
* Thether schall I com,' sayd Syr Harry 
Perssy 
'My trowth I plyght to the.' 

17. A pype of wyne he gave them over the 

walles, 65 

For soth as I yow saye ; 
Ther he mayd the Dowglasse drynke. 
And all hys ost that daye. 



18. The Dowglas turnyd hym homewarde 

agayne, 
For soth withowghten naye ; 70 

He toke his logeyng at Oterborne, 
Upon a Wedynsday. 

19. And ther he pyght hys standerd dowyn, 

Hys gettyng more and lesse. 
And syne he warned hys men to goo 75 
To chose ther geldynges gresse. 

20. A Skottysshe knyght hoved upon the 

bent, 
A wache I dare well saye ; 
So was he ware on the noble Perssy, 
In the dawnyng of the daye. 80 

21. He prycked to hys pavyleon-dore, 

As faste as he myght ronne; 
'Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 
' For hys love that syttes in trone. 

22. ' Awaken, Dowglas,' cryed the knyght, 8s 

'For thow maste waken wyth wynne;'^'^ 
Yender have I spyed the prowde Perssye, ^ 
And seven stondardes wyth hym.' 

23. ' Nay by my trowth,' the Dowglas sayed, 

' It ys but a fayned taylle ; ■■ , 90 
He durst not loke on my brede banner 
For all Ynglonde so haylle. 

24. ' Was I not yesterdaye at th« Newe 

Castell, 
That stondes so fayre on Tyne? 
For all the men the Perssy had, 95 

He coude not garre me ones to dyne.' 

25. He stepped owt at his pavelyon-dore, 

To loke and it were lesse : 
' Araye yow, lordynges, one and all, 
For here bygynnes no peysse. ioo„ 

26. ' The yerle of Meritaye, thow arte my 

eme, ' .. : 
The forwarde I gyve to the: 
The yerlle of Huntlay, cawte and kene, 
He schall be wyth the. 

27. * The lorde ' of Bowghan, in armure 

bryght, ^°5 

On the other hand he schall be ; 
Lord Jhonstoune and Lorde Maxwell, 
They to schall be wyth me. 

28. ' Swynton, fayre fylde upon your pryde ! 

To batell make yow bowen : "" 

Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde, 
Syr Jhon of Agurstone ! ' 



44 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



29. The Perssy cam byfore hys oste, 

Wych was ever a gentylj . knyght ; 
Upon the Dowglas lowde cSn he crye, "S 
'I wyll holde that I have hyght. - 

30. ' For thou haste brente Northomber- 

londe, 
And done me grete envye; 
For thys trespasse thou hast me done, 
The tone of us schall dye.' i^o 

31. The Dowglas answerde hym a'gayne, 

Wyth grett wurdes upon hye, 
And sayd, ' I have twenty agaynst thy 
one, 
Byholde, and thou maste see.' 

22. Wyth that the Perssy was grevyd sore. 
For soth as I yow saye; 126 

He lyghted dowyn upon his foote, 
And schoote hys horsse clene awaye. 

33. Every man sawe that he dyd soo, _ 

That fyall was ever in rowght; 130 
Every man schoote hys horsse hym froo. 
And lyght hym rowynde abowght. 

34. Thus Syr Hary Perssye toke the fylde. 

For soth as I yow saye; 
Jhesu Cryste in hevyn on hyght ^35 

Dyd helpe hym well that daye. 

35. But nyne thowzand, ther was no mpo. 

The cronykle wyll not layne ; 
Forty thowsande of Skottes and fowre 
That day fowght them agayne. ^_ ^ f 4** 

36. But when the batell byganne to joyne. 

In hast ther cam a knyght; 
The letters fayre furth hath he tayne. 
And thus he sayd full ryght : 

37. ' My lorde your father he gretes yow 

well, 14s 

Wyth many a noble knyght; 
He desyres yow to byde 
That he may see thys fyght. 

38. ' The Baron of Grastoke ys com out of 

the west, 
With hym a noble companye ; ^so 

All they loge at your fathers thys nyght. 
And the batell fayne wolde they see.' 

39. ' For Jhesus love,' sayd Syr Harye 

Perssy, 
' That dyed for yow and me, 
Wende to my lorde my father agayne, '55 
And saye thow sawe me not with yee. 



40. ' My trowth ys plyght to yonne Skottysb 

knyght. 
It nedes me not to layne, 
That I schulde byde hym upon thys bent, 
And I have hys trowth agayne. 16° 

41. * And if that I weynde of thys growende, 

For soth, onfowghten awaye, 
He wolde me call but a kowarde knyght 
In hys londe another daye. 

42. ' Yet had I lever to be rynde and rente. 

By Mary, that mykkel maye, 166 

Then ever my manhood schulde be re- 
provyd 
Wyth a Skotte another daye. 

43. ' Wherefore schote, archars, for my sake, 

And let scharpe arowes flee; 170 

Mynstrells, playe up for your waryson, 
And well quyt it schall bee. 

44. * Every man thynke on hys trewe-love, 

And marke hym to the Trenite; 
For to God I make myne avowe ^75 

Thys day wyll I not flee/ 

45. The blodye harte in the Dowglas amies, 

Hys standerde stood on hye. 
That every man myght full well knowe ; 
By syde stode starres thre. 180 

46. The whyte lyon on the Ynglyssh perte, 

For soth as I yow sayne, 
The lucettes and the cressawntes both; 
The Skottes faught them agayne. 

47. Upon Sent Androwe lowde can they crye, 

And thrysse they schowte on hyght, '86 
And syne merked them one owr Yng- 
lysshe men. 
As I have tolde yow ryght. 

48. Sent George the bryght, owr Ladyes 

knyght, 
To name they were full fayne; 190 

Owr Ynglyssh men they cryde on hyght, 
And thrysse the schowtte agayne. 

49. Wyth that scharpe arowes bygan to flee, 

I tell yow in sertayne; 
Men of armes byganne to jojme, i9S 
Many a dowghty man was ther slayne. 

50. The Perssy and the Dowglas mette, 

That ether of other was fayne ; 
They swapped together whyll that the 
swette, 
Wyth swordes of fyne collayne: 200 



CAPTAIN CAR OR EDOM GORDON 



45 



51. Tyll the bloode from ther bassonnettes 

ranne, 
As the roke doth in the rayne; 
* Yelde the to me,' sayd the Dowglas, 
' Or elles thow schalt be slayne. 

52. ' For I see by thy bryght bassonet, 205 

Thow arte sum man of myght; 
And so I do by thy burnysshed brande; 
Thow arte an yerle, or elles a knyght.' 

53. ' By my good faythe,' sayd the noble 

Perssye, 
'Now haste thow rede full ryght; 210 
Yet wyll I never yelde me to the, 
Whyll I may stonde and fyght.' 

54. They swapped together whyll that they 

swette, 
Wyth swordes scharpe and long; 
Ych on other so faste thee beette, 215 
Tyll ther helmes cam in peyses dowyn. 

55. The Perssy was a man of strenghth, 

I tell yow in thys stounde ; 
He smote the Dowglas at the swordes 
length 
That he felle to the growynde. 220 

56. The sworde was scharpe, and sore can 

byte, 
I tell yow in sertayne; 
To the harte he cowde hym smyte, 
Thus was the Dowglas slayne. 

57. The stonderdes stode styll on eke a syde, 

Wyth many a grevous grone ; 226 

Ther they fowght the day, and all the 
nyght, 
And many a dowghty man was slayne. 

58. Ther was no freke that ther wolde flye, 

But styffely in stowre can stond, 230 
Ychone hewyng on other whyll they 
myght drye, 
Wyth many a baylleful bronde. 

59. Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde, 

For soth and sertenly, 
Syr James a Dowglas ther was slayne, 
That day that he cowde dye. 236 

60. The yerlle of Mentaye he was slayne, 

Grysely groned upon the growynd; 
Syr Davy Skotte, Syr Water Stewarde, 
Syr Jhon of Agurstoune. 240 

61. Syr Charlies Morrey in that place. 

That never a fote wold flee; • 



Syr Hewe Maxwell, a lord he was, 
Wyth the Dowglas dyd he dye. 

62. Ther was slayne upon the Skottes syde. 

For soth as I yow saye, 246 

Of fowre and forty thowsande Scottes 
Went but eyghtene awaye. 

63. Ther was slayne upon the Ynglysshe 

syde, 
For soth and sertenlye, 250 

A gentell knyght, Syr Jhon Fechewe, 
. Yt was the more pety. 

64. Syr James Hardbotell ther was slayne, 

For hym ther hartes were sore ; 
The gentyll Lovell ther was slayne, 255 
That the Perssys standerd bore. 

65. Ther was slayne upon the Ynglyssh perte, 

For soth as I yow saye, 
Of nyne thowsand Ynglyssh men 
Fvye hondert cam awaye. 



260 



66. The other were slayne in the fylde ; 

Cryste kepe ther sowlles from wo ! 
Seyng ther was so fewe fryndes 
Agaynst so many a foo. 

67. Then on the morne they mayde them 

beerys 265 

• Of byrch and haysell graye ; 
Many a wydowe, wyth wepyng teyres, 
Ther makes they fette awaye. 

68. Thys fraye bygaft at Otterborne, 

Bytwene the nyght and the day; 270 
Ther the Dowglas lost hys lyffe. 
And the Perssy was lede awaye. 

6g. Then was ther a Scottysh prisoner tayne, 

Syr Hewe Mongomery was hys name ; 

For soth as I yow saye, 275 

He borowed the Perssy home agayne. 

70. Now let us all for the Perssy praye 
To Jhesu most of myght, 
To bryng hys sowlle to the blysse of 
heven. 
For he was a gentyll knyght. 280 



CAPTAIN CAR OR EDOM O GORDON 

I. It befell at Martynmas, 

When wether waxed colde, 

Captaine Care said to his men, 

' We must go take a holde.' 



46 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



Syck, sike, and to-towe sike, 5 

And sike and like to die; 

The sikest nighte that ever I abode, 
God Lord have mercy oiji me ! 

2. 'Haille, master, and wether you v^^ill. 

And w^ether ye like it best ; ' ^° 

*To the castle of Crecrynbroghe, 
And there we will take our reste.' 

3. ' I knowe wher is a gay castle, 

Is builded of lyme and stone; 
Within their is a gay ladie, * ^5 

Her lord is riden and gone.' 

4. The ladie she lend on her castle-walle, 

She loked upp and downe; 
There was she ware of an host of men, 
Come riding to the towne. ^o 

5. ' Se yow, my meri men all, 

And se yow what I see? 
Yonder I see an host of men, 
I muse who they shold bee.' 

6. She thought he had ben her wed lord, 25 

As he comd riding home; 
Then was it traitur Captaine Care 
The lord of Ester-towne. 

7. They wer no soner at supper sett, 

Then after said the grace, * 3o 

Or Captaine Care and all his men 
Were lighte aboute the place. 

8. ' Gyve over thi hoWsse, thou lady gay, 

And I will make the a bande; 34 

To-nighte thou shall ly within my armes, 

To-morrowe thou shall ere my lande.' 

9. Then bespacke the eldest sonne, 

That was both whitt and redde : 
* O mother dere, geve over your howsse, 
Or elles we shalbe deade.' 4° 

10. * I will not geve over my hous,' she 

saithe, 
' Not for feare of my lyffe ; 
It shalbe talked throughout the land. 
The slaughter of a wyffe. 

11. 'Fetch me my pestilett, 45 

And charge me my gonne, 
That I may shott at this bloddy butcher. 
The lord of Easter-towne.' 



12. Styfly upon her wall she stode, 
And lett the pellettes flee; 



50 



But then she myst the blody bucher. 
And she slew other three. 

13. ' I will not geve over my hous,' she 

saithe, 
* Netheir for lord nor lowne; 
Nor yet for traitour Captaine Care, 55 
The lord of Easter-towne. ■ 

14. ' I desire of Captaine Care, 

And all his bloodye band. 
That he would save my eldest sonne. 
The eare of all my lande.' 60 

15. 'Lap him in a shete,' he sayth, 

' And let him downe to me. 
And I shall take him in my armes, 
His waran shall I be.' 

16. The captayne sayd unto him selfe; 65 

Wyth sped, before the rest, 
He cut his tonge out of his head, 
His hart out of his brest. 

17. He lapt them in a handkerchef, 

And knet it of "knotes three, 7o 

And cast them over the castell-wall. 
At that gay ladye. 

18. ' Fye upon the, Captayne Care, 

And all thy bloddy band ! 
For thou hast slayne my eldest sonne, 75 
The ayre of all my land.' 

19. Then bespake the yongest sonne, 

That sat on the nurses knee, 
Sayth, 'Mother gay, geve over your 
house ; 
It smoldereth me.' ^^ 

20. ' I wold geve my gold,' she saith, 

' And so I wolde my ffee. 
For a blaste of the westryn wind. 
To dryve the smoke from thee. 

21. ' Fy upon the, John Hamleton, 8s 

That ever I paid the hyre! 
For thou hast broken my castle-wall. 
And kyndled in the ffyre.' 

22. The lady gate to her close parler. 

The fire fell aboute her head; 9o 

She toke up her children thre, 
Seth, ' Babes, we are all dead.' 

22- Then bespake the hye steward, 
That is of hye degree ; 
Saith, ' Ladie gay, you are in close, 95 
Wether ye fighte or flee.' 



KEMP OWYNE 



47 



24. Lord Hamleton dremd in his dream, 

In Carvall where he laye, 
His halle were all of fyre, 
His ladie slayne or daye. ^°° 

25. ' Busk and bowne, my mery rhen all, 

Even and go ye with me; 
For I dremd that my haal was on fyre. 
My lady slayne or day.' 

26. He biiskt him and bownd hym, "S 

And like a worthi knighte; 
And when he saw his hall burning, 
His harte was no dele lighte. 

27. He sett a trumpett till his mouth, 

He blew as it plesd his grace; ^o 
Twenty score of Hamlentons 
Was light aboute the place. 

28. 'Had I knowne as much yesternighte 

As I do to-daye, 
Captaine Care and all his men "S 

Should not have gone so quite. 

29. * Fye upon the, Captaine Care, 

And all thy blody bande ! 
Thou haste slayne my lady gay. 

More wurth then all thy lande. 1^0 

30. ' If thou had ought eny ill will,' he saith, 

'Thou shoulde have taken my lyffe, 
And have saved my children th re, 
All and my lovesome wyfiFe.' 



THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL 

1. There lived a wife at Usher's Well, 

And a wealthy wife was she; 
She had three stout and stalwart sons, 
• And sent them oer the sea. 

2. They hadna been a week from her, s 

A week but barely ane, 
Whan word came to the carline wife 
That her three sons were gane. 

3. They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely three, 10 

Whan word came to the carlin wife 
That her sons she 'd never see. 

4. 'I wish the wind may never cease, 

Nor fashes in the flood. 
Till my three sons come hame to me, iS 
In earthly flesh and blood.' 



5- It fell about the Martinmass, 

When nights are lang and mirk, 
The carlin wife's three sons came hame. 
And their hats were o the birk. 20 

6. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 
Nor yet in ony sheugh ; 
But at the gates o Paradise, 
That birk grew fair eneugh. 



7. ' Blow up the fire, my maidens, 25 

Bring water from the well; 
For a' my house shall feast this night, 
Since my three sons are well.' 

8. And she has made to them a bed, 

She 's made it large and wide, 30 

And she 's taen her mantle her about. 
Sat down at the bed-side. 



9. Up then crew the red, red cock. 
And up and crew the gray; 
The eldest to the youngest said, 35 

' 'T is time she were away.' 

10. The cock he hadna crawd but once, _ 

And clappd his wings at al, 
When the youngest to the eldest said, 
* Brother, we must awa. 4" 

« 

11. 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 

The channerin worm doth chide; 
Gin we be mist out o our place, 
A sair pain we maun bide. 

12. ' Faer ye weel, my mother dear ! 45 

Fareweel to barn and byre ! 
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass 
That kindles my mother's fire ! ' 



KEMP OWYNE 

1. Her mother died when she was young, 

Which gave her cause to make great 
moan; 
Her father married the warst woman 
That ever lived in Christendom. 

2. She served her with foot and hand, S 

In every thing that she could dee. 
Till once, in an unlucky time. 

She threw her in ower Craigy's sea. 

3. Says, ' Lie you there, dpve Isabel, 

And all my sorrows li^ with thee^ 



48 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea, 
And borrow you with kisses three 

Let all the warld do what they will, 
Oh borrowed shall you never be ! ' 

4. Her breath grew Strang, her hair grew 

lang, '5 

And twisted thrice about the tree, 
And all the people, far and near, 
Thought that a savage beast was she. 

5. These news did come to Kemp Owyne, 

Where he lived, far beyond the sea ; 20 
He hasted him to Craigy's sea. 
And on the savage beast lookd he. 

6. Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang, 

And twisted was about the tree, 
And with a swing she came about: 25 

* Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with 

me. 

7. 'Here is a royal belt,' she cried, 

'That I have found in the green sea; 
And while your body it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be ; 3o 
But if you touch me, tail or fin, 

I vow my belt your death shall be.' 

8. He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 

The royal belt he brought him wi; 
Her breath was strajig, her hair was 
lang, 35 

And twisted twice about the tree, 
And with a swing she came about : 
' Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with 
me. 

9. 'Here is a royal ring,' she said, 

'That I have found in the green 
sea ; 4o 

And while your finger it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be; 
But if you touch me, tail or fin, 

I swear my ring your death shall be.' 

10. He stepped in, gave her a kiss, 45 

The royal ring he brought him wi ; 
Her breath was Strang, her hair was lang, 

And twisted ance about the tree. 
And with a swing she came about : 

' Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with 
me. so 

11. 'Here is a royal brand,' she said, 

• That I have found in the green sea ; 
And while your body it is on, 

Drawn shall your blood never be; 



But if you touch me, tail or fin, 55 

I swear my brand your death shall be.' 

12. He stepped in, gave her a kiss. 

The royal brand he brought him wi ; 
Her breath was sweet, her hair grew 
short, 
And twisted nane about the tree, 6<» 
And smilingly she came about. 
As fair a woman as fair could be. 



THE D^MON LOVER 

1. ' O where have you been, my long, long 

love, 
This long seven years and mair?' 
* O I 'm come to seek my former vows 
Ye granted me before.' 

2. 'O hold your tongue of your former 

vows, 5 

For they will breed sad strife ; 

hold your tongue of your former vows. 
For I am become a wife.' 

3. He turned him right and round about. 

And the tear blinded his ee: 1° 

' I wad never hae trodden on Irish 
ground, 
If it had not been for thee. 

4. * I might hae had a king's daughter, 

Far, far beyond the sea; 

1 might have had a king's daughter, '5 
Had it not been for love o thee.' 

5. ' If ye might have had a king's daughter, 

Yersel ye had to blame ; 
Ye might have had taken the king's 
daughter, 
For ye kend that I was nane. 20 

6. ' If I was to leave my husband dear, 

And my two babes also, 
O what have you to take me to. 
If with you I should go ? ' 

7. ' I hae seven ships upon the sea — 25 

The eighth brought me to land — 
With four-and-twenty bold mariners, 
And music on every hand.' 

8. She has taken up her two little babes, 

Kissd them baith cheek and chin : 3o 
' O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, 
For I '11 never see you again.' 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 



49 



9. She set her foot upon the ship, 
No mariners could she behold; 
But the sails were o the taffetie, 
And the masts o the beaten gold. 



35 



10. She had not sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When dismal grew his countenance, 4° 
And drumlie grew his ee. 

11, They had not saild a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
Until she espied his cloven foot, 
And she wept right bitterlie. 45 

li. 'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' 
says he, 
' Of your weeping now let me be ; 
I will shew you how the lilies grow 
On the banks of Italy.' 

13. ' O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 

That the sun shines sweetly on?' 5i 
' O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said, 
' Where you will never win.' 

14. ' O whaten a mountain is yon,' she said, 

' All so dreary wi frost and snow? ' 55 
' O yon is the mountain of hell,' he cried, 
' Where you and I will go.' 

15. He strack the tap-mast wi his hand, 

The fore-mast wi his knee. 
And he brake that gallant ship in twain. 
And sank her in the sea. 6i 



LORD RANDAL 

1. ' O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my 

son? 
O where hae ye been, my handsome 

young man?' 
' I hae been to the wild wood ; mother, 

make my bed soon, 
Fir I 'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald 

lie down.' 

2. * Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, 

my son? S 

Where gat ye your dinner, my hand- 
some young man ? ' 
' I dined wi my true-love ; mother, make 

my bed soon. 
For I 'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald 
lie down.' 



3. ' What gat ye to your dinner. Lord Ran- 

dal, my son? 
What gat ye to your dinner, my han-i- 

some young man? ' 10 

' I gat eels boiled in broo ; mother make 

my bed soon. 
For I 'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald 

lie down.' 

4. 'What became of your bloodhounds. 

Lord Randal, my son? 
What became of your bloodhounds, my 

handsome young man?' 
* O they swelld and they died ; mother, 

make my bed soon, i5 

For I 'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald 

lie down.' 

5. *0 I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, 

my son ! 
O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome 

young man ! ' 
*0 yes! I am poisond; mother, make 

my bed soon. 
For I 'm sick at the heart and I fain 

wald lie down.' 20 



SIR PATRICK SPENS 

1. The king sits in Dumferling toune. 

Drinking the blude-reid wine : 

* O whar will I get guid sailor, 

To sail this schip of mine?' 

2. Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5 

Sat at the kings richt kne : 

* Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, 

That sails upon the se.' 

3. The king has written a braid letter. 

And signd it wi his hand, 10 

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, 
Was walking on the sand. 

4. The first line that Sir Patrick red, 

A loud lauch lauched he; 
The next line that Sir Patrick red, iS 
The teir blinded his ee. 

5. *0 wha is this has don this deid. 

This ill deid don to me, 
To send me out this time o' the yeir, 
To sail upon the se ! 20 

6. * Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all 

Our guid schip sails the morne:' 



50 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



new 

25 



' O say na sae, my master deir, 
For I feir a deadlie storme. 

'Late, late yestreen I saw the 
moone, 

Wi the auld moone in hir arme, 
And I feir, I feir, my deir master, 

That we will cum to harme.' 



8. O our Scots nobles wer richt laith 

To weet their cork-heild schoone ; 3o 
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, 
Thair hats they swam aboone. 

9. O lang, lang may their ladies sit, 

Wi thair fans into their hand, 
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35 
Cum sailing to the land. 

ID. O lang, lang may the ladies stand, 
Wi thair gold kerns in their hair, 
Waiting for thar ain deir lords, 

For they '11 se thame na mair. 40 

It. Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, 
It 's fiftie fadom deip, 
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, 
Wi the Scots lords at his feit. 



THOMAS RYMER 

1. True Thomas lay oer yond grassy bank, 

And he beheld a ladie gay, 
A ladie that was brisk and bold, 
Come riding oer the fernie brae. 

2. Her skirt was of the grass-green silk, s 

Her mantel of the velvet fine, 
At ilka tett of her horse's mane 
Hung fifty silver bells and nine. 

3. True Thomas he took off his hat 

And bowed him low down till his 

knee: '° 

' All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 

For your peer on earth I never did see.' 

4. * O no, O no, True Thomas,' she says, 

'That name does not belong to me; 

I am but the queen of fair Elfland, ^5 

And I 'm come here for to visit thee. 



5. ' But ye maun go wi me now, Thomas, 
True Thomas, ye maun go wi me. 
For ye maun serve me seven years, i9 
Thro weel or wae as may chance to be.' 



6. She turned about her milk-white steed, 

And took True Thomas up behind, 
And aye wheneer her bridle rang, 
The steed flew swifter than the wind. 

7. For forty days and forty nights 25 

He wade thro red blude to the knee. 
And he saw neither sun nor moon, 
But heard the roaring of the sea. 

8. O they rade on and further on. 

Until they came to a garden green : 3o 
' Light down, light down, ye ladie free, 
Some of that fruit let me pull to thee.' 

9. 'O no, O no, True Thomas,' she says, 

' That fruit maun not be touched by 
thee. 
For a' the plagues that are in hell 35 
Light on the fruit of this countrie. 

10. ' But I have a loaf here in my lap, 

Likewise a bottle of claret wine. 
And here ere we go farther on. 

We '11 rest a while, and ye may dine.' 40 

11. When he had eaten and drunk his fill, 

' Lay down your head upon my knee,' 
The lady sayd, ' ere we climb yon hill. 
And I will show you fairlies three. 

12. 'O see ye not yon narrow road, 45 

So thick beset wi thorns and briers? 
That is the path of righteousness, 
Tho after it but few enquires. 

13. ' And see not ye that braid braid road. 

That lies across yon lilhe leven? 5o 
That is the path of wickedness, 
Tho some call it the road to heaven. 

14. 'And see ye not that bonny road, 

Which winds about the fernie brae? 
That is the road to fair Elfland, 55 

Where you and I this night maun gae. 

15. ' But Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue. 

Whatever ye may hear or see, 
For gin ae word you should chance to 

speak, 
You will neer get back to your ain 

countrie.' ^° 

16. He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 

And a pair of shoes of velvet green, 
And till seven years were past and gone 
True Thomas on earth was never seea 



THE TWA SISTERS 



51 



BONNY BARBARA ALLAN 

1. It was in and about the Martinmas time, 

When the green leaves were a falhng, 
That Sir John Graeme, in the West 
Country, 
Fell in love with Barbara Allan. 

2. He sent his man down through the town, 

To the place where she was dwelling : 6 
* O haste and come to my master dear. 
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.' 

3. O hooly, hooly rose she up. 

To the place where he was lying, 1° 
And when she drew the curtain by, 

* Young man, I think you 're dying.' 

4. ' O it 's I 'm sick, and very, very sick. 

And 't is a' for Barbara Allan : ' 
' O the better for me ye 's never be, iS 
The your heart's blood were a spilling. 

5. * O dinna ye mind, young man,' said she, 

* When ye was in the tavern a drink- 

ing, 
That ye made the healths gae round and 
round, 
And slighted Barbara Allan?' 20 

6. He turnd his face unto the wall. 

And death was with him dealing: 
'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, 
And be kind to Barbara Allan.' 

7. And slowly, slowly raise she up, 25 

And slowly, slowly left him, 
And sighing said, she could not stay, 
Since death of life had reft him. 

8. She had not gane a mile but twa, 29 

When she heard the dead-bell ringing. 
And every jow that the dead-bell geid. 
It cryd, Woe to Barbara Allan! 

9. * O mother, mother, make my bed ! 

make it saft and narrow ! 

Since my love died for me to-day, 35 

1 '11 die for him to-morrow.' 



THE TWA SISTERS 

I. There was twa sisters in a bowr, 
Edinburgh; Edinburgh 
There was twa sisters in a bowr, 

Stirling for ay 
There was twa sisters in a bowr, 



There came a knight to be their wooer. 
Bonny Saint Johnston stands upon Tay. 

2. He courted the eldest wi glove an ring» 
But he lovd the youngest at>ove a' thing. 

3. He courted the eldest wi brotch an knife. 
But lovd the youngest as his life. " 

4. The eldest she was vexed sair, 
And much envied her sister fair, 

5. Into her bowr she could not rest, 

Wi grief an spite she almos brast, ^S 

6. Upon a morning fair an clear. 
She cried upon her sister dear : 

7. ' O sister, come to yon sea stran. 

An see our father's ships come to Ian.' 

8. She 's taen her by the milk-white han, ^t 
An led her down to yon sea stran. 

9. The youngest stood upon a stane. 
The eldest came an threw her in. 

10. She tooke her by the middle sma. 
And dashd her bonny back to the jaw. •^S 

11. 'O sister, sister, tak my han, 

An Ise mack you heir to a' my Ian. 

12. ' O sister, sister, tak my middle, 

An yes get my goud and my gouden 
girdle. 

13. ' O sister, sister, save my life, 3» 
An I swear Ise never be nae man's wife/' 

14. * Foul fa the han that I should tacke. 
It twind me an my wardles make. 

15. ' Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair 
Gars me gae maiden for evermair.' 3S 

16. Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she 

swam. 
Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam. 

17. O out it came the miller's son. 
An saw the fair maid swimmin in. 

18. ' O father, father, draw your dam, 40 
Here's either a mermaid or a swan.' 

19. The miller quickly drew the dam, 
An there he found a drownd woman. 



52 



ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS 



20. You coudna see her yallow hair 

For gold and pearle that were so rare. 45 

21. You coudna see her middle sma 

For gouden girdle that was sae braw. 

22. You coudna see her fingers white, 
For gouden rings that was sae gryte. 

23. An by there came a harper fine, so 
That harped to the king at dine. 

24. When he did look that lady upon. 
He sighd and made a heavy moan. 

25. He 's taen three locks o her yallow hair. 
And wi them strung his harp sae fair, ss 

26. The first tune he did play and sing, 
Was, * Farewell to my father the king.' 

27. The nextin tune that he playd syne, 
Was, ' Farewell to my mother the queen.' 

28. The lasten tune that he playd then, 60 
Was, 'Wae to my sister, fair Ellen.' 



THE CRUEL BROTHER 

1. There was three ladies playd at the ba, 

With a hey ho and a lillie gay 
There came a knight and played oer 
them a'. 
As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 

2. The eldest was baith tall and fair, s 
But the youngest was beyond compare. 

3. The midmost had a graceful mien, 
But the youngest lookd like beautie's 

queen. 

4. The knight bowd low to a' the three. 
But to the youngest he bent his knee. 10 

5. The ladie turned her head aside, 

The knight he wooed her to be his bride. 

6. The ladie blushd a rosy red. 

And sayd, ' Sir knight, I 'm too young 
to wed.' 

7. *0 ladie'fair, give me your hand, ^s 
And I '11 make you ladie of a' my land.' 

8. ' Sir knight, ere ye my favor win, 

,you maun get consent frae a' my k:n.' ! 



9. He 's got consent frae her parents dear. 
And likewise frae her sisters fair. 20 

10. He 's got consent frae her kin each one^ 
But forgot to spiek to her brother John, 

11. Now, when the wedding day was come. 
The knight would take his bonny bride 

home. 

12. And many a lord and many a knight 25 
Came to behold that ladie bright. 

13. And there was nae man that did her see 
But wishd himself bridegroom to be. 

14. Her father dear led her down the stair, 
And her sisters twain they kissd her 

there. 3° 

15. Her mother dear led her thro the closs, 
And her brother John set her on her 

horse. 

16. She leand her oer the saddle-bow. 
To give him a kiss ere she did go. 

17. He has taen a knife, baith lang and 

sharp, 35 

And stabbed that bonny bride to the 
heart. 

18. She hadno ridden half thro the town. 
Until her heart's blude staind her gown. 

19. * Ride softly on,' says the best young 

man, 

* For I think our bonny bride looks pale 

and wan.' 4° 

20. ' O lead me gently up yon hill, 

And I '11 there sit down, and make my 
will.' 

21. ' what will you leave to your father 

dear ? ' 

* The silver-shode steed that brought me 

here.' 

22. 'What will you leave to your mother 

dear?' 4S 

'My velvet pall and my silken gear.' 

23. 'What will you leave to your sister 

Anne^' 
'My silken scarf and my gowden fan.' 



EDWARD 



53 



24. 'What will you leave to your sister 

Grace? ' 
' My bloody cloaths to wash and dress.' so 

25. 'What will you leave to your brother 

John?' 
'The gallows-tree to hang him on.' 

26. 'What will you leave to your brother 

John's wife? ' 
'The wilderness to end her life.' 

27. This ladie fair in her grave was laid, 55 
And many a mass was oer her said. 

28. But it would have made your heart right 

sair, 
To see the bridegroom rive his haire. 



EDWARD 

1. ' Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, 

Edward, Edward, 
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, 

And why sae sad gang yee O ? ' 
' O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 5 

Mither, mither, 
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 
And I had nae mair bot hee 0.' 

2. ' Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward, 1° 
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

My deir son I tell thee O.' 
' O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 
Mither, mither, 
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 15 
That erst was sae fair and frie O.' 

3. 'Your steid was auld, and ye hae got 

mair, 

Edward, Edward, 
Your steid was auld, and ye hae got mair, 
Sum other dule ye drie O.' ^° 

*0 I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Mither, mither, 



O I hae killed my fadir deir, 
Alas, and wae is mee O ! ' 

4. 'And whatten penance wul ye drie for 

that, 25 

Edward, Edward, 
And whatten penance will ye drie for 
that? 
My deir son, now tell me O.' 
' He set my feit in yonder boat, 

Mither, mither, 30 
He set my feit in yonder boat, 
And He fare ovir the sea O.' 

5. 'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs 

and your ha, 

Edward, Edward? 
And what wul you doe wi your towirs 
and your ha, 35 

That were sae fair to see O ? ' 
' He let thame stand tul they doun fa, 

Mither, mither, 
He let thame stand tul they down fa, 
For here nevir mair maun I bee O.' 40 

6. 'And what wul ye leive to your bairns 

and your wife, 

Edward, Edward? 
And what wul ye leive to your bairns 
and your wife. 
Whan ye gang ovir the sea O ? ' 
'The warldis room, late them beg thrae 
life, 45 

Mither, mither. 
The warldis room, late them beg thrae 
life, 
For thame nevir mair wul I see O.' 

7. ' And what wul ye leive to your ain 

mither deir, 

Edward, Edward? so 
And what wul ye leive to your ain 
mither deir? 
My deir son, now tell me O.' 
' The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir, 

Mither, mither, 
The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir, 55 
Sic counseils ye gave to me O.' 



SIR THOMAS WYATT (1503?-! 542) 

Wyatt was preeminently a courtier. Well educated at Cambridge, and, possibly, also at 
Oxford, he began his career at court in several oiBces connected with the person of the king, 
from which he advanced speedily to diplomatic services, during the pferiod 1525-1540, in France, 
Italy, Spain, and Flanders. In 1536, Wyatt was knighted, and in 1542, he represented Kent 
in parliament. A vigorous tradition persists that Wyatt was attached to the English court 
not only through his official appointments, but also, indirectly, as the youthful lover of Anne 
Boleyn. 

Well-read in Italian, French, and classical literature, Wyatt deliberately formed his style 
by imitating Italian and French models. He is conspicuous in the history of English literature 
chiefly from the fact that he introduced into English the sonnet form, with its refining in- 
fluence upon English meter and diction. Several of Wyatt's sonnets are direct translations 
from Petrarch, upon whom, throughout, he drew largely for his rime-scheme, his vocabulary, 
and his conventional ideas. Besides sonnets, Wyatt wrote other lyrics, epigrams, satires, and 
devotional verse. In his lyrics other than sonnets, is found his finest work. A collection of 
Wyatt's poems was printed in Songs and Sonnets written by the right honorahle Lord Henry 
Howard, late Earl of Surrey, and others, published by Richard Tottel in 1557, and commonly 
known as Tottel's Miscellany. 



THE LOVER FOR SHAME-FASTNESS 
HIDETH HIS DESIRE WITHIN HIS 
FAITHFUL HEART 

The long love that in my thought I harbor, 
And in my heart doth keep his residence, 
Into my face presseth with bold pretence, 
And there campeth displaying his banner. 
She that me learns to love and to suffer, s 
And wills that my trust, and lust's negli- 
gence 
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence, 
With his hardiness takes displeasure. 
Wherewith love to the heart's forest he 

fleeth, 
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry, lo 
And there him hideth, and not appeareth. 
What may I do, when my master feareth? 
But in the field with him to live and die? 
For good is the life, ending faithfully. 



THE LOVER COMPARETH HIS STATE 
TO A SHIP IN PERILOUS STORM 
TOSSED ON THE SEA 

My galley charged with forgetfulness 
Thorough sharp seas, in winter nights doth 

pass, 
'Tween rock and rock ; and eke my foe, alas, 
That is my lord, steereth with cruelness, 



xA-nd every hour, a thought in readiness, s 

As though that death were light in such a 
case. 

An endless wind doth tear the sail apace 

Of forced sighs, and trusty fearfulness. 

A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain 

Hath done the wearied cords great hinder- 
ance, lo 

Wreathed with error, and with ignorance. 

The stars be hid that led me to this pain ; 

Drowned is reason that should be my com- 
fort, 

And I remain, despairing of the port. 



THE LOVER HAVING DREAMED OF 
ENJOYING OF HIS LOVE, COM- 
PLAINETH THAT THE DREAM IS 
NOT EITHER LONGER OR TRUER 

Unstable dream, according to the place, 
Be steadfast once, or else at least be true. 
By tasted sweetness make me not to rue 
The sudden loss of thy false feigned grace. 
By good respect in such a dangerous case S 
Thou broughtst not her into these tossing 

seas. 
But madest my spirit to live, my care t'en- 

crease, 
My body in tempest her delight t'embrace. 
The body dead, the spirit had his desire; 



54 



THE LOVER COMPLAINETH 



55 



Painless was th' one, the other in delight. lo 
Why then, alas ! did it not keep it right, 
But thus return to leap into the fire, 
And where it was at wish, could not remain? 
Such mocks of dreams do turn to deadly- 
pain ! 



A RENOUNCING OF LOVE 

Farewell, Love, and all thy laws for ever ! 
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more: 
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore 
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavor. 
In blind error when I did persever, 5 

Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore, 
Taught me in trifles that I set no store ; 
But 'scape forth thence, since liberty is 

lever. 
Therefore, farewell ! go trouble younger 

hearts, 
And in me claim no more authority. ^° 

With idle youth go use thy property, 
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts ; 
For hitherto though I have lost my time, 
Me list no longer rotten boughs to climb. 



THE LOVER BESEECHETH HIS MIS- 
TRESS NOT TO FORGET HIS 
STEADFAST FAITH AND TRUE IN- 
TENT 

Forget not yet the tried intent 
Of such a truth as I have meant; 
My great travail so gladly spent. 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet when first began S 

The weary life ye know, since whan 
The suit, the service none tell can ; 
Forget not yet ! 

Forget not yet the great assays, 

The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, lo 

The painful patience in delays, 

Forget not yet ! 

Forget not ! O, forget not this. 

How long ago hath been, and is. 

The mind that never meant amiss — is 

Forget not yet ! 

Forget not then thine own approved. 
The which "so long hath thee so loved. 
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved: 
Forget not this ! 20 



AN EARNEST SUIT TO HIS UNKIND 
MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 

Say nay, say nay, for shame! 

To save thee from the blame 

Of all my grief and grame. 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 5 

Say nay! say nay! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 

That hath loved thee so long 

In wealth and woe among: 

And is thy heart so strong 10 

As for to leave me thus? 

Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 
That hath given thee my heart 
Never for to depart is 

Neither for pain nor smart: 
And wilt thou leave me thus? 
Say nay ! say nay ! 

And wilt thou leave me thus, 

And have no more pity 20 

Of him that loveth thee? 

Alas, thy cruelty! 

And wilt thou leave me thus? 

Say nay ! say nay ! 



THE LOVER COMPLAINETH THE UN- 
KINDNESS OF HIS LOVE 

My lute, awake, perform the last 
Labor that thou and I shall waste. 
And end that I have now begun. 
And when this song is sung and past. 
My lute, be still, for I have done. 5 

As to be heard where ear is none. 
As lead to grave in marble stone. 
My song may pierce her heart as soon. 
Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan? 
No, no, my lute, for I have done. 10 

The rocks do not so cruelly 
Repulse the waves continually. 
As she my suit and affection ; 
So that I am past remedy. 
Whereby my lute and I have done. is 

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got 
Of simple hearts through Loves shot. 
By whom unkind thou hast them won, 
Think not he hath his bow forgot. 
Although my lute and I have done. ^o 



56 



SIR THOMAS WYATT 



Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain 
That makest but game on earnest pain. 
Think not alone under the sun 
Unquit to cause thy lovers playn, 
Although my lute and I have done. 25 

May chance thee lie withered and old 
In winter nights that are so cold, 
Playning in vain unto the moon ; 
Thy wishes then dare not be told. 
Care then who list, for I have done. 30 

And then may chance thee to repent 
The time that thou hast lost and spent 
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon ; 
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent. 
And wish and want, as I have done. 35 

Now cease, my lute, this is the last 
Labor that thou and I shall waste, 
And ended is that we begun. 
Now is the song both sung and past. 
My lute, be still, for I have done. 40 



OF THE MEAN AND SURE ESTATE 

WRITTEN TO JOHN POINS 

My mother's maids, when they did sew and 

spin, 
They sung sometime a song of the field 

mouse 
That, for because her livelihood was but 

thin, 
,Would needs go seek her townish sister's 

house. 
She thought herself endured too much 

pain ; s 

The stormy blasts her cave so sore did 

souse 
That when the furrows swimmed with the 

rain. 
She must lie cold and wet in sorry plight ; 
And worse than that, bare meat there did 

remain 
To comfort her when she her house had 

dight; 10 

Sometime a barley corn ; sometime a bean, 
For which she labored hard both day and 

night 
In harvest time whilst she might go and 

glean ; 
And when her store was stroyed with the 

flood, 
Then welaway! for she undone was clean. 15 
Then was she fain to take, instead of food, 
Sleep, if she might, her hunger to beguile. 
' My sister,' quoth she, ' hath a living good, 



And hence from me she dwelleth not a mile. 
In cold and storm she lieth warm and dry 20 
In bed of down, the dirt doth not defile 
Her tender foot, she laboreth not as I. 
Richly she feedeth, and at the rich man's 

cost. 
And for her meat she needs not crave nor 

cry. 
By sea, by land, of the delicates, the most ^S 
Her cater seeks and spareth for no peril. 
She feedeth on boiled bacon, meat, and 

roast. 
And hath thereof neither charge nor travail ; 
And, when she list, the liquor of the grape 
Doth glad her heart till that her belly 

swell.' 30 

And at this journey she maketh but a jape; 
So forth she goeth, trusting of all this wealth 
With her sister her part so for to shape, 
That if she might keep herself in health, 
To live a lady while her life doth last. 35 
And to the door now is she come by stealth, 
And with her foot anon she scrapeth full fast. 
Th' other, for fear, durst not well scarce 

appear. 
Of every noise so was the wretch aghast. 
At last she asked softly who was there, 4° 
And in her language as well as she could. 
' Peep ! ' quoth the other sister, ' I am here.' 
* Peace,* quoth the town mouse, ' why speak- 

est thou so loud ? ' 
And by the hand she took her fair and well. 
' Welcome,' quoth she, ' my sister, by the 

Rood ! ' 45 

She feasted her, that joy it was to tell 
The fare they had; they drank the wine so 

clear. 
And, as to purpose now and then it fell, 
She cheered her with ' How, sister, what 

cheer ! ' 
Amid this joy befell a sorry chance, so 
That, welaway! the stranger bought full 

dear 
The fare she had, for, as she looked askance. 
Under a stool she spied two steaming eyes 
In a round head with sharp ears. In France 
Was never mouse so feared, for, though un- 
wise 5' 
Had not y-seen such a beast before. 
Yet had nature taught her after her guise 
To know her foe and dread him evermore. 
The towny mouse fled, she knew whither to 

go; 
Th' other had no shift, but wonders sore 60 
Feared of her life. At home she wished her 

tho, 
And to the door, alas ! as she did skip. 



OF THE MEAN AND SURE ESTATE 



57 



The heaven it would, lo ! and eke her chance 

was so, 
At the threshold her silly foot did trip; 
And ere she might recover it again, 6s 

The traitor cat had caught her by the hip, 
And made her there against her will remain, 
That had forgot her poor surety and rest 
For seeming wealth wherein she thought to 

reign. 
Alas, my Poins, how men do seek the best 7° 
And find the worst by error as they stray ! 
And no marvel ; when sight is so opprest. 
And blinds the guide, anon out of the way 
Goeth guide and all in seeking quiet life. 
O wretched minds, there is no gold that may 
Grant that you seek; no war, no peace, no 
strife. 76 

No, no, although thy head were hooped with 

gold, 
Sergeant with mace, halberd, sword, nor 

knife, 
Cannot repulse the care that follow should. 
Each kind of life hath with him his dis- 
ease. 80 
Live in delight even as thy lust would, 
And thou shalt find, when lust doth most 

thee please. 
It irketh straight, and by itself doth fade. 
A small thing is it that may thy mind ap- 
pease. 
None of ye all there is that is so mad 85 
To seek for grapes on brambles or on briars ; 
Nor none, I trow, that hath his wit so bad 
To set his hay for conies over rivers. 



Nor ye set not a drag-net for an hare; 
And yet the thing that most is your de«» 

sire 9° 

Ye do mis-seek with more travail and care. 
Make plain thine heart, that it be not knotted 
With hope or dread, and see thy will be 

bare 
From all effects whom vice hath ever spotted. 
Thyself content with that is thee assigned, 95 
And use it well that is to thee allotted. 
Then seek no more out of thyself to find 
The thing that thou hast sought so long be- 
fore, 
For thou shalt feel it sticking in thy mind. 
Mad, if ye list to continue your sore, 1°° 
Let present pass and gape on time to come, 
And deep yourself in travail more and 

more. 
Henceforth, my Poins, this shall be all and 

some. 
These wretched fools shall have naught else 

of me ; 
But to the great God and to his high dome, 
None other pain pray I for them to be, 106 
But, when the rage doth lead them from the 

right. 
That, looking backward, virtue they may 

see, 
Even as she is so goodly fair and bright. 
And whilst they clasp their lusts in arms 

across, ''° 

Grant them, good Lord, as thou mayst of 

thy might, 
To fret inward for losing such a loss. 



HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY (i5i7?-iS47) 

Henry Howard, or, as he is commonly called, Surrey, was, like Wyatt, actively connected 
with the English coiirt. His courtly occupations, however, were not so much administrative 
and diplomatic as military and chivalric. From his early years up to manhood, Surrey was 
the companion of princes, and more than once his elders bargained for his marriage with a 
princess. As a boy of some fifteen years, Surrey accompanied the king to France, and remained 
eleven months at the French court. x\t the age of twenty, by striking a courtier who had 
accused him of seditious intentions, he landed himself in confinement for a few months at 
Windsor. These months Surrey spent in versifying, a diversion for which he had been well 
prepared by previous practice and by considerable reading in classical and contemporary litera- 
ture. After having distinguished himself from time to time in jousts, he was made knight of 
the garter in 1541. Surrey's impulsive and adventurous spirit, which established him as ' the 
most foolish proud boy that is in England,' led him to eminent military service in France, 
during which he called forth the king's reprimand by exposing himself needlessly to danger. 
By numerous angry and trenchant utterances, he eventually brought upon himself the charge 
of treason, which he vigorously denied, but which led, ultimately, to his beheading on Tower 
Hill, January 21, 1547. 

Although Surrey composed verse during most of his life-time, his poems first appeared in 
print in 1557, when Richard Tottel published Songs and Sonnets ivritten hy the right honorable 
Lord Henry Hotvard, late Earl of Surrey, and others. During the same year appeared Surrey's 
translation of the second and fourth books of Virgil's ^neid, a tran^latioji in which blank 
verse is used for the first time, in any notable way, in English. Although Surrey was the 
poetical disciple of his friend Wyatt, he excelled his master in all points. In particular, this 
superiority is apparent in range of subject, in refinement and variety of versification, and in 
delicacy of feeling. 



DESCRIPTION OF SPRING, WHEREIN 
EACH THING RENEWS, SAVE ONLY 
THE LOVER 

The soote season that bud and bloom forth 

brings, 
With green hath clad the hill and eke the 

vale; 
The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; 
The turtle to her mate hath told her tale : 
Summer is come, for every spray now^ 

springs ; 5 

The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; 
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; 
The fishes flete with new repaired scale; 
The adder all her slough away she slings; 
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; 
The busy bee her honey now she mings. " 
Winter is w-orn, that was the flowers' bale : 
And thus I see among these pleasant things 
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ! 



COMPLAINT OF A LOVER REBUKED 

Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought, 
That built his seat within my captive breast, 



S8 



Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought, 
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest. 
She that me taught to love, and suffer pain, 
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire 6 
With shame fast cloak to shadow and refrain, 
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire. 
The coward Love then to the heart apace 
Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and 
plains, 10 

His purpose lost, and dare not show his face. 
For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I 

pains. 
Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove; 
Sweet is his death that takes his end by- 
love. 



DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS 
/^ LOVE GERALDINE 

From Tuscan came my lady's worthy race; 
Fair Florence was sometime her ancient 

seat ; 
The Western isle whose pleasant shore doth 

face 
Wild Camber's cliffs did give her lively 

heat; 



COMPLAINT 



59 



Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast; 
Her sire, an earl ; her dame, of princes' 

blood ; 6 

From tender years, in Britain she doth rest, 
With a king's child, where she tasteth costly 

food ; 
Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen ; 
Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight; 
Hampton me taught to wish her first for 

mine ; ^ ^ 

And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her 

sight : 
Her beauty of kind, her virtues from above. 
Happy is he that can obtain her love ! 



COMPLAINT OF THE LOVER DIS- 
DAINED 

In Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus 

dwelt, 
A well so hot, that whoso tastes the same, 
Were he of stone, as thawed ice should melt. 
And kindled find his breast with fired fiame; 
Whose moist poison dissolved hath my heart. 
With creeping fire my cold limbs are sup- 

prest, 6 

Feeleth the heart that harbored freedom, 

smart : 
Endless despair long thraldom hath imprest. 
Another well of frozen ice is found, 
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kind, lo 
The fervent heat doth quench of Cupid's 

wound, 
And with the spot of change infects the 

mind ; 
Whereof my dear hath tasted, to my pain : 
Whereby my service grows into disdain. 



A COMPLAINT BY NIGHT OF THE 
LOVER NOT BELOVED 

Alas, so all things now do hold their peace! 
Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing; 
The beasts, the air, the birds their song do 

cease, 
The nightes chair the stars about doth bring. 
Calm is the sea; the waves work less and 

le'ss ; 5 

So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring. 
Bringing before my face the great increase 
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing, 
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease. 
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure 

bring; lo 

But by and by, the cause of my disease 
Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting, 



When that I think what grief it is again. 
To live and lack the thing should rid my 
pain. 



VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOW- 
SOEVER HE BE REWARDED 

Set me whereas the sun doth parch the 

green. 
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice ; 
In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen ; 
In presence prest of people, mad or wise; 
Set me in high, or yet in low degree ; 5 

In longest night, or in the longest day; 
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be 
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray 
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell 
In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood ; lo 
Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell ; 
Sick or in health, in evil fame or good ; 
Hers will I be, and only with this thought 
Content myself, although my chance be 

naught. 



COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF 
HER LOVER ^BEING UPON THE SEA 

happy dames ! that may embrace 
The fruit of your delight; 

Help to bewail the woeful case. 

And eke the heavy plight, 

Of me, that wonted to rejoice S 

The fortune of my pleasant choice : 

Good ladies, help to fill my mourning voice. 

In ship freight with rememberance 

Of thoughts and pleasures past, 

He sails that hath in governance '<> 

My life, while it will last; 

With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, 

Furthering his hope, that is his sail, 

Toward me, the sweet port of his avail. 

Alas, how oft in dreams I see i5 

Those eyes that were my food ; 
Which sometime so delighted me. 
That yet they do me good ; 
Wherewith I wake with his return, 
Whose absent flame did make me burn : 20 
But when I find the lack. Lord, how I 
mourn ! 

When other lovers in arms across. 

Rejoice their chief delight, 

Drowned in tears to mourn my loss, 

1 stand the bitter night ^5 



6o 



HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY 



In my window, where I may see 
Before the winds how the clouds flee : 
Lo, what a mariner love hath made me ! 

And in green waves when the salt flood 

Doth rise by rage of wind, 3° 

A thousand fancies in that mood, 

Assail my restless mind. 

Alas, now drencheth my sweet foe, 

That with the spoil of my heart did go, 

And left me; but, alas, why did he so? 35 

And when the seas wax calm again, 
To chase from me annoy. 
My doubtful hope doth cause me pain ; 
So dread cuts off my joy. 
Thus is my wealth mingled with woe, 4° 
And of each- thought a doubt doth grow ; 
Now he comes! Will he come? Alas, no, 
no! 



A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE WHEREIN 
HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COM- 
PARE THEIR LADIES WITH HIS 

Give place, ye lovers, here before 

That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; 

My lady's beauty passeth more 

The best of yours, I dare well sayn, 

Than doth the sun the candle light, s 

Or brightest day the darkest night. 

And thereto hath a troth as just 

As had Penelope the fair; 

For what she saith, ye may it trust 

As it by writing sealed were: if 

And virtues hath she many mo 

Than I with pen have skill to show, 

I could rehearse, if that I would, 
The whole effect of Nature's plaint. 
When she had lost the perfect mold, ^5 

The like to whom she could not paint: 
With wringing hands, how she did cry. 
And what she said, I know it, I. 

I know she swore with raging mind, 

Her kingdom only set apart, ^o 

There was no loss by law of kind 

That could have gone so near her heart. 

And this was chiefly all her pain: 

She could not make the like again, 

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, ^s 

To be the chiefest work she wrought; 
In faith, methink, some better ways 



On your behalf might well be sought, 
Than to compare, as ye have done. 
To match the candle with the sun. 



30 



DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS 
STATE OF A LOVER 

The sun hath twice brought forth his tender 

green 
And clad the earth in lively lustiness. 
Once have the winds the trees despoiled 

clean, 
And new again begins their cruelness. 
Since I have hid under my breast the harm 
That never shall recover healthfulness. 6 
The winter's hurt recovers with the warm. 
The parched green restored is with the 

shade. 
What warmth, alas, may serve for to disarm 
The frozen heart that mine in flame hath 

made? lo 

What cold again is able to restore 
My fresh green years, that wither thus and 

fade? 
Alas, I see, nothing hath hurt so sore, 
But time in time reduceth a return ; 
In time my harm increaseth more and 

more, is 

And seems to have my cure always in scorn. 
Strange kinds of death, in life that I do try, 
At hand to melt, far off in flame to burn ; 
And like as time list to my cure apply, 
So doth each place my comfort clean re- 

«fuse. ^o 

All thing alive that seeth the heavens with 

eye 
With cloak of night may cover and excuse 
Itself from travail of the day's unrest, 
Save I, alas, against all others' use, 
That then stir up the torments of my 

breast, 25 

And curse each star as causer of my fate. 
And when the sun hath eke the dark op- 

prest. 
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate 
The travails of mine endless smart and pain; 
For then, as one that hath the light in 

hate, 30 

I wish for night, more covertly to plain. 
And me withdraw from every haunted place. 
Lest by my cheer my chance appear too plain. 
And in my mind I measure, pace by pace, 
To seek the place where I myself had lost, 
That day that I was tangled in the lace, 36 
In seeming slack, that knitteth ever most. 
But never yet the travail of my thought 
Of better state could catch a cause to boast; 



VIRGIL'S vENEID 



6i 



For if I found, sometime that I have sought, 
Those stars by whom I trusted of the port, 41 
My sails do fall, and I advance right naught, 
As anchored fast, my spirits do all resort 
To stand agazed, and sink in more and more 
The deadly harm which she doth take in 

sport. 45 

L.o, if I seek, how do I find my sore! 
And if I flee I carry with me still 
The venomed shaft, which doth his force 

restore 
By haste of flight, and I may plain my fill 
Unto myself, unless this careful song so 
Print in your heart some parcel of my teen ; 
For I, alas, in silence all too long 
Of mine old hurt yet feel the wound but 

green. 
Rue on my life, or else your cruel wrong 54 
Shall well appear, and by my death be seen ! 



THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY 
LIFE 

Martial, the things that do attain 

The happy life be these, I find : 

The riches left, not got with pain ; 

The fruitful ground; the quiet mind; 

The egall friend; no grudge, no strife; s 

No charge of rule, no governance; 

Without disease, the healthful life; 

The household of continuance; 

The mean diet, no delicate fare ; 

True wisdom joined with simpleness; 10 

The night discharged of all care. 

Where wine the wit may not oppress; 

The faithful wife, without debate; 

Such sleeps as may beguile the night: 

Contented with thine own estate, iS 

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. 



OF THE DEATH OF SIR T[HOMAS] 
W[YATT] 

W. resteth here, that quick could never rest ; 
Whose heavenly gifts, encreased by disdain, 
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast; 
Such profit 'he by envy could obtain. 4 

A head where wisdom mysteries did frame ; 
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain 
As on a stithe where that some work of 

fame 
Was daily wrought to turn to Britain's gain. 
A visage stern and mild, where both did 

grow, 
Vice to condemn, in virtue to rejoice; 'o 

Amid great storms, whom grace assured so 



To live upright and smile at fortune's choice. 
A hand that taught what might be said in 

rime ; 
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit : 14 
A mark, the which (unperfected, for time) 
Some may approach, but never none shall 

hit. 
A tongue that served in foreign realms his 

king; 
Whose courteous talk to virtue did enflame 
Each noble heart ; a worthy guide to bring 
Our English youth by travail unto fame. 20 
An eye whose judgment none affect could 

blind, 
Friends to allure, and foes to reconcile ; 
Whose piercing look did represent a mind 
With virtue fraught, reposed, void of guile. 
A heart where dread was never so imprest, 
To hide the thought that might the truth ad- 
vance ; 
In neither fortune lost, nor yet represt, 27 
To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance. 
A valiant corse, where force and beauty met ; 
Happy, alas, too happy, but for foes ! 30 

Lived, and ran the race that Nature set : 
Of manhood's shape, where she the mold did 

lose. 
But to the heavens that simple soul is fled, 
Which left with such as covet Christ to 

know 
Witness of faith that never shall be dead, 35 
Sent for our health, but not received so. 
Thus for our guilt, this jewel have we lost; 
The earth his bones, the heavens possess his 

ghost ! 



VIRGIL'S ^NEID 

BOOK II 

They whisted all, with fixed face attent, 
When Prince /Eneas from the royal seat 
Thus gan to speak : ' O Queen, it is thy will 
I should renew a woe cannot be told ; 
How that the Greeks did spoil and over- 
throw 5 
The Phrygian wealth and wailful realm of 

Troy. 
Those ruthful things that I myself beheld. 
And whereof no small part fell to my share; 
Which to express, who could refrain from 

tears ? 
What Myrmidon? or yet what Dolopes? 10 
What stern Ulysses' waged soldier? 
And lo ! moist night now from the welkin 

falls, 
And stars declining counsel us to rest; 



62 



HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY 



But since so great is thy delight to hear 
Of our mishaps and Troyes last decay, 15 
Though to record the same my mind abhors 
And plaint eschews, yet thus will I begin : — 
The Greekes chieftains, all irked with the 

war, 
Wherein they wasted had so many years. 
And oft repulsed by fatal destiny, 20 

A huge horse made, high raised like a hill, 
By the divine science of Minerva, — 
Of cloven fir compacted were his ribs. 
For their return a feigned sacrifice, — 24 
The fame whereof so wandered it at point. 
In the dark bulk they closed bodies of men 
Chosen by lot, and did enstuff by stealth 
The hollow womb with armed soldiers. 
There stands in sight an isle h'ght Tene- 
don, 
Rich, and of fame while Priam's kingdom 

stood, 30 

Now but a bay and road unsure for ship. 
Hither them secretly the Greeks withdrew, 
Shrouding themselves under the desert 

shore; 
And, weening we they had been fled and 

gone, 
And with that wind had fet the land of 

Greece, 35 

Troy discharged her long continued dole. 
The gates cast up, we issued out to play. 
The Greekish camp desirous to behold, 
The places void and the forsaken coasts. 
Here Pyrrhus' band, there fierce Achilles 

pight; 40 



Here rode their ships, there did their battles 

join. 
Astonied some the scathful gift beheld, 
Behight by vow unto the chaste Minerve, 
All wondering at the hugeness of the horse. 
And first of all, Timoetes gan advise 45 
Within the walls to lead and draw the 

same. 
And place it eke amid the palace court, 
Whether of guile, or Troyes fate it would. 
Capys, with some of judgment more discreet, 
Willed it to drown, or underset with flame. 
The suspect present of the Greeks' deceit. 
Or bore and gauge the hollow caves un- 
couth ; 
So diverse ran the giddy people's mind. S3 
Lo ! foremost of a rout that followed him. 
Kindled Laocoon hasted from the tower. 
Crying far off : " O wretched citizens, s6 
What so great kind of frenzy fretteth you? 
Deem ye the Greeks, our enemies, to be 

gone? 
Or any Greekish gifts can you suppose 
Devoid of guile? Is so Ulysses known? 60 
Either the Greeks are in this timber hid. 
Or this an engine is to annoy our walls. 
To view our towers, and overwhelm our 

town. 
Here lurks some craft. Good Troyans give 

no trust 
Unto this horse, for, whatsoever it be, 65 
I dread the Greeks, yea, when they offer 

gifts."' 

* * * 



THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST (1536-1608) 



About the year 1553, certain English printers projected a continuation of John Lydgate's 
Fall of Princes, a version of Boccaccio's De Casihiis Virorum lUusirium, the design of these 
printers being to add stories of famous unfortunates from the period with which Boccaccio 
endod ' unto this presente time.' The project, under the general title A Mirror for Magistrates, 
was printed in gradually enlarged editions between the years 1555 and 1610. Although prob- 
ably not a partner to the original plan, Sackville early became an associate and a contributor. 
Tiie Induction, written as an introduction to such stories as he should contribute, and The 
Complaint of Henry, Duke of Buckingham, the only ' tragedy ' actually contributed by Sackville, 
appeared in the edition of 1563. 

The Induction is commonly accounted the best achievement in English poetry between 
Chaucer and Spenser. Although in writing his description of the lower world Sackville evi- 
dently had in mind both the sixth book of Virgil's 2Eneid and medieval allegory, the superb 
vivifying of such abstractions as Remorse of Conscience, Dread, Revenge, and the like, is to be 
credited to the genius of the English poet. Sackville owes his inspiration, perhaps, to Virgil, 
and his verse form, certainly, to Chaucer; his masterly control of his material and his power 
of phrasing are surely his own. 



THE INDUCTION 



The wrathful Winter, 'preaching on apace, 
With blustering blasts had all ybared the 

treen, 
And old Saturnus, with his frosty face, 
With chilling cold had pierced the tender 
green ; 4 

The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been 
The gladsome groves that now lay over- 
thrown. 
The tapets torn, and every bloom down 
blown. 

The soil, that erst so seemly was to seen, 

Was all despoiled of her beauty's hue; 

And soote fresh flowers, wherewith the sum- 
mer's queen lo 

Had clad the earth, now Boreas' blasts dovvn 
blew ; 

And small fowls flocking, in their song did 
rue 

The winter's wrath, wherewith each thing 
defaced 

In woeful wise bewailed the summer past. 

Hawthorn had lost his motley livery, is 

The naked twigs were shivering all for cold, 
And dropping down the tears abundantly ; 
Each thing, methought, with weeping eye me 

told 
The cruel season, bidding me withhold 
Myself within ; for I was gotten out ^o 

Into the fields, whereas I walked about. 




63 



When lo, the night with misty niantl 

spread, 
Gan dark the day, and dim the azto^e-^ies , 
And Venus in her message Hermes sped 
To bloody Mars, to will him not to rise, 25 
While she herself approached in speedy 

wise ; 
And Virgo hiding her disdainful breast, 
With Thetis now had laid her down to rest. 

Whiles Scorpio dreading Sagittarius' dart. 
Whose bow prest bent in fight, the string 

had slipped, 30 

Down slid into the ocean flood apart. 
The Bear, that in the Irish seas had dipped 
His grisly feet, with speed from thence he 

whipped : 
For Thetis, hasting from the Virgin's bed. 
Pursued the Bear, that ere she came was 

fled. 35 

And Phaeton now, near reaching to his race 
With glist'ring beams, gold streaming where 

they bent, . . 

Was prest to enter in his resting place : 
Erythius, that in the cart first went, 
Had even now attained his journey's stent: 
And, fast declining, hid away his head, 41 
While Titan couched him in his purple bed. 

And pale Cynthea, with her borrowed light. 
Beginning to supply her brother's place 44 
'^'^''as past the noonstead six degrees in sight. 
When sparkling stars amid the heaven's face, 



64 



THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST 



With twinkling light shone on the earth 

apace, 
That, while they brought about the nightes 

chare. 
The dark had dimmed the day ere I was 

ware. 

And sorrowing I to see the summer flowers, 
The lively green, the lusty leas forlorn, si 
The sturdy trees so shattered with the 

showers, 
The fields so fade, that flourished so beforn, 
It taught me well, all earthly things be born 
To die the death, for naught long time may 

last; S3 

The summer's beauty yields to winter's blast. 

Then looking upward to the heaven's learns, 
With nightes stars thick powdered every- 
where, 
Which erst so glistened with the golden 

streams 
That cheerful Phoebus spread down from his 
sphere, ^° 

Beholding dark oppressing day so near : 
The sudden sight reduced to my mind, 
The sundry changes that in earth we find. 

That musing on this worldly wealth in 

thought, 
Which comes, and goes, more faster than we 

see 65 

The- flickering flame that with the fire is 

wrought. 
My busy mind presented unto me 
Such fall of peers as in this realm had be ; 
That oft I wished some would their woes 

descrive, 
To warn the rest whom fortune left alive. 

And straight forth stalking with redoubled 

pace, 71 

For that I saw the night drew on so fast. 
In black all clad, there fell before my face 
A piteous wight, whom woe had all fore- 

. waste; 
Forth from her eyen the crystal tears out 

brast ; 75 

And sighing sore, her hands she wrung and 

fold. 
Tare all her hair, that ruth was to behold. 

Her body small, forewithered, and forespent, 
As is the stalk that summer's drought op- 
pressed ; 
Her welked face with woeful tears besprent; 
Her color pale ; and, as it seemed her best, 
In woe and plaint reposed was her rest; 82 



And, as the stone that drops of water wears. 
So dented were her cheeks with fall of tears. 

Her eyes swollen with flowing streams 
afloat, 8s 

Wherewith, her looks thrown up full pite- 
ously. 

Her forceless hands together oft she smote. 

With doleful shrieks, that echoed in the sky; 

Whose plaint such sighs did straight ac- 
company, 

That, in my doom, was never man did see 

A wight but half so woe-begone as she. 91 

I stood aghast, beholding all her plight, 
'Tween dread and dolor, so distrained in 

heart, 
That, while my hairs upstarted with the 

sight. 
The tears outstreamed for sorrow of her 

smart : 95 

But, when I saw no end that could apart 
The deadly dewle which she so sore did 

make. 
With doleful voice then thus to her I spake : 

' Unwrap thy woes, whatever wight thou be. 

And stint in time to spill thyself with 
plaint: 10° 

Tell what thou art, and whence, for well I 
see 

Thou canst not dure, with sorrow thus at- 
taint : ' 

And, with that word of sorrow, all fore- 
faint 

She looked up, and, prostrate as she lay, 

With piteous sound, lo, thus she gan to say: 

' Alas, I wretch, whom thus thou seest dis- 
trained 106 
With wasting woes, that never shall aslake, 
Sorrow I am, in endless torments pained 
Among the Furies in the infernal lake, 
Where Pluto, god of hell, so grisly black, 
Doth hold his throne, and Lethe's deadly 
taste II' 
Doth reave remembrance of each thing fore- 
past : 

' Whence come I am, the dreary destiny 
And luckless lot for to bemoan of those 
Whom fortune, in this maze of misery, us 
Of wretched chance, most woeful mirrors 

chose ; 
That, -when thou seest how lightly they did 

lose 
Their pomp, their power, and that they 

thought most sure, 



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65 



Thou mayst soon deem no earthly joy may 
dure.' 

Whose rueful voice no sooner had out 
brayed 120 

Those woeful words wherewith she sor- 
rowed so, 
But out, alas, she shright, and never stayed, 
Fell down, and all to-dashed herself for 

woe: 
The cold pale dread my limbs gan overgo. 
And I so sorrowed at her sorrows eft, 125 
That, what with grief and fear, my wits 
were reft. 

I stretched myself, and straight my heart 
revives, 

That dread and dolor erst did so appale ; 

Like him that with the fervent fever strives, 

When sickness seeks his castle health to 
scale ; 130 

With gathered spirits so forced I fear to 
avale : 

And, rearing her, with anguish all fore- 
done. 

My spirits returned, and then I thus begun : 

' O Sorrow, alas, sith Sorrow is thy name. 
And that to thee this drear doth well per- 
tain, 135 
In vain it were to seek to cease the same : 
But, as a man himself with sorrow slain. 
So I, alas, do comfort thee in pain, 
That here in sorrow art foresunk so deep. 
That at thy sight I can but sigh and weep.' 

I had no sooner spoken of a stike, 141 

But that the storm so rumbled in her 

breast. 
As ^olus could never roar the like; 
And showers down rained from her eyen so 

fast, 
That all bedrent the place, till at the last. 
Well eased they the dolor of her mind, 146 
As rage of rain doth swage the stormy 

wind: 

For forth she paced in her fearful tale : 

' Come, come,' quoth she, * and see what I 

shall show. 
Come, hear the plaining and the bitter bale 
Of worthy men by Fortune overthrow: isi 
Come thou, and see them ruing all in row, 
They were but shades that erst in mind thou 

rolled : 
Come, come with me, thine eyes shall them 

behold.' 



What could these words but make me more 
aghast, 155 

To hear her tell whereon I mused whilere? 

So was I mazed therewith, till, at the last. 

Musing upon her words, and what they 
were. 

All suddenly well lessoned was my fear ; 

For to my mind returned, how she telled 

Both what she was, and where her won she 
held. i6i 

Whereby I knew that she a goddess was, 
And, therewithal, resorted to my mind 
My thought, that late presented me the glass 
Of brittle state, of cares that here we find, 
Of thousand woes to silly men assigned: 166 
And how she now bid me come and behold. 
To see with eye that erst in thought I rolled. 

Flat down I fell, and with all reverence 
Adored her, perceiving now that she, 170 
A goddess, sent by godly providence, 
In earthly shape thus showed herself to me, 
To wail and rue this world's uncertainty : 
And, while I honored thus her godhead's 

might 
With plaining voice these words to me she 

shright : 17s 

*I shall thee guide first to the grisly lake, 
And thence unto the blissful place of rest. 
Where thou shall see, and hear, the plaint 

they make 
That whilom here bare swing among the 

best: 
This shalt thou see: but great is the unrest 
That thou must bide, before thou canst at- 
tain 181 
Unto the dreadful place where these remain.' 

And, with these words, as I upraised stood, 
And gan to follow her that straight forth 

paced, 
Ere I was ware, into a desert wood 185 

We now were come, where, hand in hand 

embraced. 
She led the way, and through the thick so 

traced, 
As, but I had been guided by her might, 
It was no way for any mortal wight. 

But lo, while thus amid the desert dark 190 
We passed on with steps and pace unmeet, 
A rumbling roar, confused with howl and 

bark 
Of dogs, shook all the ground under our 

feet, 



66 



THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST 



And struck the din within our ears so deep, 
As, half distraught, unto the ground I fell, 
Besought return, and not to visit hell. 196 

But she, forthwith, uplifting me apace, 

Removed my dread, and, with a steadfast 
mind. 

Bade me come on; for here was now the 
place. 

The place where we our travail end should 
find : 200 

Wherewith I rose, and to the place assigned 

Astoined I stalk, when straight we ap- 
proached near 

The dreadful place, that you will dread to 
hear. 

An hideous hole all vast, withouten shape, 
Of endless depth, o'erwhelmed with ragged 
stone, 205 

With Ugly mouth, and grisly jaws doth gape, 
And to our sight confounds itself in one : 
Here entered we, and yeding forth, anon 
An horrible loathly lake we might discern. 
As black as pitch, that cleped is Avern : 210 

A deadly gulf, where naught but rubbish 

grows, 
With foul black swelth in thickened lumps 

that lies. 
Which up in th' air such stinking vapors 

throws. 
That over there may fly no fowl but dies 
Choked with the pestilent savors that arise : 
Hither we come ; whence forth we still did 



pace, 



216 



In dreadful fear amid the dreadful place; 

And, first, within the porch and jaws of 
hell. 

Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all be- 
sprent 

With tears ; and to herself oft would she 
tell 220 

Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent 

To sob and sigh ; but ever thus lament. 

With thoughtful care, as she that, all in 
vain, 

Would wear, and waste continually in pain. 

Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there. 
Whirled on each place, as place that ven- 
geance brought, 226 
So was her mind continually in fear. 
Tossed and tormented with the tedious 

thought 
Of those detested crimes which she had 
wrought ; 



With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to 
the sky, 230 

Wishing for death, and yet she could not 
die. 

Next saw we Dread, all trembliYig how he 

shook, 
With foot uncertain, proffered here and 

there : 
Benumbed of speech, and, with a ghastly 

look 
Searched every place, all pale and dead for 

fear, 23 f. 

His cap borne up with staring of his hair, 
'Stoined and amazed at his own shade for 

dread. 
And fearing greater dangers than was need. 

And next, within the entry of this lake, 
Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for 

ire, 240 

Devising means how she may vengeance 

take. 
Never in rest, till she have her desire : 
But frets within so far forth with the fire 
ur wreakmg fiames, that now determines 

she 244 

To die by death, or venged by death to be. 

When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pre- 
tence 
Had showed herself, as next in order set, 
With trembling limbs we softly parted 

thence. 
Till in our eyes another sight we met : 
When from my heart a sigh forthwith I 
fet, 250 

Ruing, alas ! upon the woeful plight 
Of Misery, that next appeared in sight. 

His face was lean, and somedeal pined 

away, 
And eke his hands consumed to the bone, 
But what his body was, I cannot say, 2sji 
For on his carcass raiment had he none. 
Save clouts and patches, pieced one by one; 
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders 

cast. 
His chief defence against the winter's blast. 

His food, for most, was wild fruits of the 

tree, 260 

Unless sometimes some crumbs fell to his 

share. 
Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, 
As on the which full daint'ly would he fare: 
His drink, the running stream ; his cup, the 
bare 



THE INDUCTION 



67 



Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold 
ground : 265 

To this poor life was Misery ybound. 

Whose wretched state when we had well be- 
held, 
With tender ruth on him, and on his fears, 
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we 

held ; 
And, by and by, another shape appears, 270 
Of greedy Care, still brushing up the breres, 
His knuckles knobbed, his flesh deep dented 

in. 
With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin. 

The morrow gray no sooner hath begun 
To spread his light, even peeping in our 
eyes, 275 

When he is up, and to his work yrun : 
But let the night's black misty mantles 

rise. 
And with foul dark never so much dis- 
guise 
The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, 
But hath his candles to prolong his toil. 280 

By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of 

Death, 
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, 
A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; 
Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned 

on, 
Or whom she lifted up into the throne 285 
Of high renown ; but, as a living death, 
So, dead alive, of life he drew the breath. 

The body's rest, the quiet of the heart. 

The travail's ease, the still night's fear was 

he. 
And of our life in earth the better part ; 290 
Reaver of sight, and yet in whom we see 
Things oft that tide, and oft that never be; 
Without respect, esteeming equally 
King Croesus' pomp, and Irus' poverty. 

And next, in order sad. Old Age we found : 
His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and 

blind, 296 

With drooping cheer still poring on the 

ground, 
As on the place where Nature him assigned 
To rest, when that the Sisters had untwined 
His vital thread, and ended with their 

knife 300' 

The fleeting course of fast declining life. 

There heard we him with broke and hollow 
nlaint 



Rue with himself his end approaching fast, 

And all for naught his wretched mind tor- 
ment 

With sweet remembrance of his pleasures 
past, 305 

And fresh delights of lusty youth fore- 
waste ; 

Recounting which, how would he sob and 
shriek. 

And to be young again of Jove beseek ! 

But and the cruel fates so fixed be. 
That time forepast cannot return again, 310 
This one request of Jove yet prayed he : 
That, in such withered plight, and wretched 

pain. 
As eld, accompanied with his loathsome 

train. 
Had brought on him, all were it woe and 

grief. 
He might a while yet linger forth his life. 

And not so soon descend into the pit, 316 
Where Death, when he the mortal corpse 

hath slain. 
With reckless hand in grave doth cover it, 
Thereafter never to enjoy again 
The gladsome light, but in the ground 

ylain, 320 

In the depth of darkness waste and wear to 

naught, 
As he had never into the world been 

brought. 

But who had seen him sobbing, how he 
stood 

Unto himself, and how he would bemoan 

His youth forepast, as though it wrought 
him good 325 

To talk of youth, all were his youth fore- 
gone. 

He would have mused, and marveled much, 
whereon 

This wretched Age should life desire so 
fain. 

And knows full well life doth but length his 
pain. 

Crookbacked he was, tooth-shaken, and 

blear-eyed, 330 

Went on three feet, and sometime crept on 

four, 
With old lame bones that rattled by his 

side, 
His scalp all pilled, and he with eld for- 

lore : 
His withered fist still knocking at Death's 

door. 



68 



THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST 



Fumbling, and driveling, as he draws his 
breath: 335 

For brief, the shape and messenger of 
Death. 

And fast by him pale Malady was placed, 
Sore sick in bed, her color all foregone, 
Bereft of stomach, savor, and of taste, 
Ne could she brook no meat, but broths 
alone : 34o 

Her breath corrupt, her keepers every one 
Abhorring her, her sickness past recure. 
Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. 

But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! 
We turned our look, and, on the other side, 
A grisly shape of Famine might we see, 346 
With greedy looks, and gaping mouth that 

cried 
And roared for meat, as she should there 

have died; 
Her body thin and bare as any bone, 349 
Whereto was left naught but the case alone. 

And that, alas, was gnawn on every where, 
All full of holes, that I ne might refrain 
From tears, to see how she her arms could 

tear, 
And with her teeth gnash on the bones in 

vain, 
When, all for naught, she fain would so 

sustain 355 

Her starven corpse, that rather seemed a 

shade. 
Than any substance of a creature made. 

Great was her force, whom stone wall could 

not stay. 
Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw ; 
With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay 
Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, 361 
But eats herself as she that hath no law: 
Gnawing, alas, her carcass all in vain. 
Where you may count each sinew, bone, and 

vein. 

On her while we thus firmly fixed our 
eyes, 365 

That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, 
Lo, suddenly she shrieked in so huge wise. 
As made hell-gates to shiver with the might : 
Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light 
Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale 
Death 370 

Enthrilling it, to reave her of her breath. 

And by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw. 
Heavy, and cold, the shape of Death aright. 



That daunts all earthly creatures to his 
law ; 374 

Against whose force in vain it is to fight : 
Ne peers, ne princes, nor no mortal wight. 
No towns, ne realms, cities, ne strongest 

tower. 
But all, perforce, must yield unto his power. 

His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, 
And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) 
With great triumph eftsoons the same he 

shook, 381 

That most of all my fears affrayed me : 
His body dight ■ with naught but bones, 

parde. 
The naked shape of man there saw I plain, 
All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. 

Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, 
With visage grim, stern looks, and blackly 
hued; 387 

In his right hand a naked sword he had. 
That to the hilts was all with blood im- 
brued ; 
And in his left (that kings and kingdoms 
rued) 390 

Famine and fire he held, and therewithal 
He razed towns, and threw down towers and 
all. 

Cities he sacked, and realms that whilom 
flowered 

In honor, glory, and rule, above the best. 

He overwhelmed, and all their fame de- 
voured, 395 

Consumed, destroyed, wasted and never 
ceased. 

Till he their wealth, their name, and all op- 
pressed : 

His face forehewed with wounds, and by his 
side 

There hung his targe, with gashes deep and 
wide. 

In mids of which, depainted there, we found 1 
Deadly Debate, all full of snaky hair, 401 i 
That with a bloody fillet was ybound, 
Out breathing naught but discord every- 
where : 
And round about were portrayed, here and 

there, J 

The hugy hosts, Darius and his power, 40s ^ 
His kings, princes, his peers, and all his 
flower. 

Whom great Macedo vanquished there in 

sight. 
With deep slaughter, despoiling all his pride. 



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69 



Pierced through his realms, and daunted all 

his might : 
Duke Hannibal beheld I there beside, 410 
In Canna's field, victor how he did ride. 
And woeful Romans that in vain withstood, 
And consul Paulus covered all in blood. 

Yet saw I more the fight at Thrasimene, 
And Treby fiield, and eke when Hannibal 41 5 
And worthy Scipio last in arms were seen 
Before Carthago gate, to cry for all 
The world's empire, to whom it should be- 
fall : 
There saw I Pompey and Csesar clad in 
arms, 419 

Their hosts allied and all their civil harms : 

With conquerors' hands, forebathed in their 

own blood. 
And Caesar weeping over Pompey's head ; 
Yet saw I Sulla and Marius where they 

stood. 
Their great cruelty, and the deep bloodshed 
Of friends: Cyrus I saw and his host dead, 
And how the queen with great despite hath 

flung 426 

His head in blood of them she overcome. 

Xerxes, the Persian king, yet saw I there. 
With his huge host, that drank the rivers 

dry, 
Dismounted hills, and made the vales up- 
rear, 430 
His host and all yet saw I slain, parde : 
Thebes I saw, all razed how it did lie 
In heaps of stones, and Tyrus put to spoil, 
With walls and towers flat evened with the 
soil. 

But Troy, alas, methought, above them 

all, 43S 

It made mine eyes in very tears consume : 
When I beheld the woeful word befall. 
That by the wrathful will of gods was come; 
And Jove's unmoved sentence and fore- 
doom 
On Priam king, and on his town so bent, 
I could not lin, but I must there lament. 441 

And that the more, sith destiny was so 

stern 
As, force perforce, there might no force 

avail, 
But she must fall : and, by her fall, we 

learn, 
That cities, towers, wealth, world, and all 

shall quail : 



No manhood, might, nor nothing might pre- 
vail; 

All were there pressed full many a prince, 
and peer, 

And many a knight that sold his death full 
dear. 

Not worthy Hector, worthiest of them all. 

Her hope, her joy, his force is now for 

naught : 4So 

Troy, Troy, Troy, there is no boot but 

bale. 
The hugy horse within thy walls is brought; 
Thy turrets fall, thy knights, that whilom 

fought 
In arms amid the field, are slain in bed, 
Thy gods defiled, and all thy honor dead. 4SS 

The flames up spring, and cruelly they creep 
From wall to roof, till all to cinders waste: 
Some fire the houses where the wretches 

sleep. 
Some rush in here, some run in there as 

fast ; 
In every where or sword or fire they taste : 
The walls are torn, the towers whirled to 

the ground; 461 

There is no mischief but may there be 

found. 

Cassandra yet there saw I how they haled 
From Pallas' house, with spercled tress un- 
done. 
Her wrists fast bound, and with Greeks' 
rout empaled : 46s 

And Priam eke, in vain how he did run 
To arms, whom Pyrrhus with despite hath 

done 
To cruel death, and bathed him in the baign 
Of his son's blood, before the altar slain. 

But how can I describe the doleful sight, 47° 
That in the shield so livelike fair did shine? 
Sith in this world, I think was never wight 
Could have set forth the half, not half so 
fine : 

1 can no more, but tell how there is seen 
Fair Ilium fall in burning red gledes down, 
And, from the soil, great Troy, Neptunus' 

town. 476 

Herefrom when scarce I could mine eyes 

withdraw. 
That filled with tears as doth the springing 

well, 
We passed on so far forth till we saw 
Rude Acheron, a loathsome lake to tell, 480 



JO 



THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST 



That boils and bubs up swelth as black as 

hell ; 
Where grisly Charon, at their fixed tide, 
Still ferries ghosts unto the farther side. 

The aged God no sooner Sorrow spied, 
But, hasting straight unto the bank apace. 
With hollow call unto the rout he cried, 486 
To swerve apart, and give the goddess place : 
Straight it was done, when to the shore we 

pace. 
Where, hand in hand as we then linked 

fast. 
Within the boat we are together placed. 490 

And forth we launch full f raughted to the 

brink : 
When, with the unwonted weight, the rusty 

keel 
Began to crack as if the same should sink: 
We hoise up mast and sail, that in a while 
We fetched the shore, where scarcely we 

had while 495 

For to arrive, but that we heard anon 
A three-sound bark confounded all in one. 

We had not long forth passed, but that we 
saw 

Black Cerberus, the hideous hound of hell, 

With bristles reared, and with a three- 
mouthed jaw 500 

Foredinning the air with his horrible yell. 

Out of the deep dark cave where he did 
dwell. 

The goddess straight he knew, and by and 
by, 

He peased and couched, while that we passed 

by. 

Thence come we to the horror and the 
hell, 505 

The large great kingdoms, and the dreadful 
reign 

Of Pluto in his throne where he did dwell, 

7 he wide waste places, and the hugy plain. 



The wailings, shrieks, and sundry sorts of 

pain. 
The sighs, the sobs, the deep and deadly 

groan; Sio 

Earth, air, and all, resounding plaint and 

moan. 

Here puled the babes, and here the maids 
unwed 

With folded hands their sorry chance be- 
wailed ; 

Here wept the guiltless slain, and lovers 
dead, 

That slew themselves when nothing else 
availed; 51 5 

A thousand sorts of sorrows here, that 
wailed 

With sighs, and tears, sobs, shrieks, and all 
yfear. 

That, of, alas, it was a hell to hear. 

We staid us straight, and with a rueful 

fear, 
Beheld this heavy sight; while from mine 

eyes S^o 

The vapored tears down stilled here and 

there, 
And Sorrow eke, in far more woeful wise, 
Took on with plaint, upheaving to the skies 
Her wretched hands, that, with her cry, the 

rout 524 

Can all in heaps to swarm us round about. 

' Lo here' quoth Sorrow, 'princes of re- 
nown. 

That whilom sat on top of Fortune's wheel, 

Now laid full low ; like wretches whirled 
down, 

Even with one frown, that stayed but with a 
smile : 

And now behold the thing that thou, ere- 
while, 530 

Saw only in thought; and, what thou now 
shalt hear. 

Recount the same to kesar, king, and peer.' 



ROGER ASCHAM (15 15-1568) 

Ascham was prepared for his cai-eer by gentle birth and by a thorough humanistic education 
at St. John's College, Cambridge. His studying of Greek resulted in his being one of the 
most enthusiastic advocates of the new classical learning. In 1531, he became a fellow of 
St. John's College, and subsequently held the appointments of reader in Greek and of public 
orator. Ascham's Toxophilus (1545), full of patriotism, learning, and human feeling, won for 
him the favor of Henry VIII, who granted him a pension, later renewed by Edward VI. In 
1548, he became tutor of the Princess Elizabeth, and, soon after, secretary to an embassy to 
the court of Charles V. He became secretary to Queen Mary, and later received preferment 
from Queen Elizabeth. Ascham's vigorous humanism is emphatically expressed in his School- 
master, written late in life, and published posthumously in 1570. 



THE SCHOOLMASTER those manners which you gather in Italy: 

From BOOK I ^ good schoolhouse of wholesome doc- 

trine, and worthy masters of commendable 
But I am afraid that over-many of our scholars, where the master had rather 
travelers into Italy do not eschew the 5 defame himself for his teaching, than not 
way to Circe's Court, but go and ride, and shame his scholar for his learning. A 
run, and fly thither ; they make great haste good nature of the master, and fair con- 
to come to her ; they make great suit to ditions of the scholars. And now choose 
serve her; yea, I could point out some you, you Italian Englishmen, whether you 
with my finger that never had gone out lo will be angry with us for calling you 
of England but only to serve Circe in monsters, or with the Italians for calling 
Italy. Vanity and vice and any licence you devils, or else with your own selves 
to ill living in England was counted stale that take so much pains and go so far to 
and rude unto them. And so, being mules make yourselves both. (IT some yet do nbtl 
and horses before they went, returned 15 well understand what is an Englishman 
very swine and asses home again ; yet Italianated, I will plainly tell him. He 
everywhere very foxes with subtle and that by living and traveling in Italy 
busy heads ; and where they may, very bringeth home into England out of Italy 
wolves with cruel malicious hearts. A the religion, the learning, the policy, the 
marvelous monster, which, for filthiness 20 experience, the manners of Italy. That 
of living, for dulness to learning himself, is to say, for religion, papistry or worse ; 
for wiliness in dealing with others, for for learning, less, commonly, than they 
malice in hurting without cause, should carried out with them ; for policy, a fac- 
carry at once, in one body, the belly of a tious heart, a discoursing head, a mind to 
swine, the head of an ass, the brain of a 25 meddle in all men's matters; for experi- 
fox, the womb of a wolf. If you think ence, plenty of new mischiefs never 
we judge amiss and write too sore against known in England before; for manners, 
you, hear what the Italian saith of the variety of vanities and change of filthy 
Englishman, what the master reporteth living. These be the enchantments of 
of the scholar; who uttereth plainly what 30 Circe, brought out of Italy to mar men's 
is taught by him, and what is learned by manners in England ; much by example 
you, saying, ' Inglese Italianato e un dia- of ill life, but more by precepts of fond 

ibolo incarnato,' that is to say, you remain books of late translated out of Italian into 
men in shape and fashion, but become English, sold in every shop in London, 
devils in life and condition. This is not 35 commended by honest titles, the sooner to 
the opinion of one for some private spite, corrupt honest manners; dedicated over- 
but the judgment of all in a common prov- boldly to virtuous and honorable person- 
ejrb. which riseth of that learning and ages, the easier to beguile simple and in- 



"j^ ROGER ASCHAM 



nocent wits. It is pity that those which standeth in two special points — in open 
have authority and charge to allow and manslaughter and bold bawdry. In which 
disallow books to be printed, be no more book those be counted the noblest knights 
circumspect herein than they are. / Ten that do kill most men without any quarrel, 
sermons at Paul's Cross do not so much 5 and commit foulest adulteries by subtlest 
good for moving men to true doctrine, as shifts : as Sir Launcelot with the wife of 
i one of those books do harm with enticing King Arthur, his master; Sir Tristram 
men to ill living. Yea, I say farther, those with the wife of King Mark, his uncle ; 
books tend not so much to corrupt honest \ Sir Lamerock with the wife of King Lot, 
living, as they do to subvert true religion. lo; that was his own aunt. This is good 
More papists be made by your merry books j stuff for wise men to laugh at, or honest 
of Italy than by your earnest books of imen to take pleasure at! Yet I know 
Louvain. And because our great physi- jwhen God's Bible was banished the court, 
cians do wink at the matter, and make no land Morte Arthur received into the 
count of this sore, I, though not admitted 15 prince's chamber. What toys the daily 
one of their fellowship, yet having been reading of such a book may work in the 
many years a prentice to God's true re- will of a young gentleman or a young 
ligion, and trust to continue a poor jour- ^maid that liveth wealthily and idly, wise 
neyman therein all days of my life, for 1 men can judge and honest men do pity, 
the duty I owe and love I bear both tOatjAnd yet ten Morte Arthurs do not the 
true doctrine and honest living, though I tenth part so much harm as one of these 
have no authority to amend the sore my- j books made in Italy and translated in 
self, yet I will declare my good-will to dis- ^"England. They open not fond and corn- 
cover the sore to others. mon ways to vice, but such subtle, cun- 
St. Paul saith that sects and ill opinions 25 ning, new, and diverse shifts to carry 
be the works of the flesh and fruits of young wills to vanity and young wits to 
sin. This is spoken no more truly for the mischief, to teach old bawds new school- 
doctrine than sensible for the reason, points, as the simple head of an Eng- 
And why? For ill doings breed ill think- lishman is not able to invent, nor never 
ings. And of corrupted manners spring 30 was heard of in England before-; yea, 
perverted judgments. And how? There when papistry overflowed all. Suffer 
be in man two special things : man's will, these books to be read, and they shall soon 
man's mind. Where will inclineth to displace all books of godly learning'. For, 
goodness, the mind is bent to truth, they, carrying the will to vanity and mar- 
Where will is carried from goodness to 35 ring good manners, shall easily corrupt 
vanity, the mind is soon drawn from truth the mind with ill opinions and false judg- 
to false opinion. /And so the readiest way ; ment in doctrine : first, to think nothing 
to entangle the mind with false doctrine is of God himself — one special point that 
first to entice the will to wanton living, is to be learned in Italy and Italian books. 
Therefore, when the busy and open pap- 40 And that which is most to be lamented, 
ists abroad could not by their contentious and therefore more needful to be looked 
books turn men in England fast enough to, there be more of these ungracious 
from truth and right judgment in doc- books set out in print within these few 
trine, then the subtle and secret papists at months than have been seen in England 
home procured bawdy books to be trans- 45 many score years before. And because 
lated out of the Italian tongue, whereby our Englishmen made Italians cannot hurt 
over-many young wills and wits, allured but certain persons and in certain places, 
to wantonness, do now boldly contemn all therefore these Italian books are made 
severe books that sound to honesty and English to bring mischief enough openly 
godliness. In our forefathers' time, when 50 and boldly to all states, great and mean, 
papistry, as a standing pool, covered and young and old, everywhere, 
overflowed all England, few books were And thus you see how will enticed to 
read in our tongue, saving certain books wantonness doth easily allure the mind 
[of] chivalry, as they said, for pastime and to false opinions ; and how corrupt man- 
pleasure, which, as some say, were made 55 ners in living, breed false judgment in 
in monasteries by idle monks or wanton doctrine ; how sin and fleshliness bring 
canons: as one, for example, Morte Ar- forth sects and heresies. And, therefore, 
thur, the whole pleasure of which book suffer not vain books to breed vanity in 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 73 



men's wills, if you would have God's truth declare of whose school, of what religion 
take root in men's minds. they be — that is, epicures in living and 

That Italian that first invented the Ital- a^eot [godless] in doctrine. This last 
ian proverb against our Englishmen Ital- word is no more unknown now to plain 
ianated, meant no more their vanity in 5 Englishmen than the person was unknown 
living than their lewd opinion in religion, some time in England, until some English- 
For in calling them devils, he carrieth man took pains to fetch that devilish opin- 
them clean from God ; and yet he carrieth ion out of Italy. These men, thus Ital- 
them no farther than they willingly go ianated abroad, cannot abide our godly 
themselves — that is, where they may 10 Italian church at home ; they be not of 
freely say their minds — to the open con- that parish; they be not of that fellow- 
tempt of God and all godliness, both in ship; they like not that preacher; they 
living and doctrine. hear not his sermons, except sometimes 

And how ? I will express how, not by for company they come thither to hear the 
a fable of Homer, nor by the philosophy 15 Italian tongue naturally spoken, not to 
of Plato, but by a plain truth of God's hear God's doctrine truly preached. 
Word, sensibly uttered by David thus: And yet these men in matters of divin- 

' These men, abominabiles facti in studiis ity openly pretend a great knowledge, and 
siiis, think verily and sing gladly the have privately to themselves a very com- 
verse before, Dixit insipiens in corde suo, 20 pendious understanding of all, which, 
non est Deus' — that is to say, they giv- nevertheless, they will utter when and 
ing themselves up to vanity, shaking off where they list. And that is this: all the 
the motions of grace, driving from them mysteries of Moses, the whole law and 
the fear of God, and running headlong ceremonies, the Psalms and prophets, 
into all sin, first lustily contemn God, 25 Christ and his Gospel, God and the devil, 
then scornfully mock his Word, and also heaven and hell, faith, conscience, sin, 
spitefully hate and hurfc all well-willers death, and all they shortly wrap up, they 
thereof. Then they have in more rever- quickly expound with this one half verse 
ence the Triumphs of Petrarch than the of Horace : 
Genesis of Moses. They make more ac- 30 

count of Tully's OfUces than St. Paul's Credat Judaeus Apella. 

Epistles; of a tale in Boccaccio than a [Let the Jew Apella believe it] 

story of the Bible. Then they count as 

fables the holy mysteries of christian re- Yet though in Italy they may freely be 

ligion. They make Christ and his Gos- 35 of no religion, as they are in England in 
pel only serve civil policy. Then neither very deed to, nevertheless, returning home 
religion cometh amiss to them. In time into England, they must countenance the 
they be promoters of both openly : in profession of the one or the other, how- 
place, again, mockers of both privily, as I ever inwardly they laugh to scorn both, 
wrote once in a rude rime : — 4° And though for their private matters they 

can follow, fawn, and flatter noble person- 

Now new, now old, now both, now ages contrary to them in all respects, yet 

neither, commonly they ally themselves with the 

To serve the world's course, they care not worst papists, to whom they be wedded, 
with whether. 45 and do well agree together in three proper 

opinions : in open contempt of God's 

For where they dare, in company where Word ; in a secret security of sin ; and in 
they like, they boldly laugh to scorn both a bloody desire to have all taken away by 
protestant and papist. They care for no sword and burning that be not of their 
Scripture ; they make no count of general 50 faction. They that do read with indiffer- 
councils ; they contemn the consent of the ent judgment Pygius and Machiavelli, 
church ; they pass for no doctors ; they two indifferent patriarchs of these two re- 
mock the Pope; they rail on Luther; they ligions, do know full well what I say true, 
allow neither side; they like none, but Ye see what manners and doctrine our 

only themselves. The mark they shoot 55 Englishmen fetch out of Italy. For, find- 
at, the end they look for, the heaven they ing no other there, they can bring no 
desire, is only their own present pleasure other hither. And, therefore, many godly 
Ond private profit; whereby they plainly and excellent learned Englishmen, not 



74 ROGER ASCHA^I 



many years ago, did make a better choice, home in Rome, then let wise men think 
when open cruelty drove them out of this Italy a safe place for wholesome doctrine 
country, to place themselves there where and godly manners, and a fit school for 
Christ's doctrine, the fear of God, pun- young gentlemen of England to be brought 
ishment of sin, and discipline of honesty 5 up in ! 

were had in special regard. Our Italians bring home with them 

I I was once in Italy myself; but I thank other faults from Italy, though not so 
f God my abode there was but nine days, great as this of religion, yet a great deal 
} And yet I saw in that little time, in one greater than many good men can well 
I city, more liberty to sin than ever I heard lo bear. For commonly they come home 
I tell of in our noble city of London in common contemners of marriage and 
I nine years. I saw it was there as free ready persuaders of all others to the same ; 
'to sin not only without all punishment, not because they love virginity, nor yet 
but also without any man's marking, as it because they hate pretty young virgins, 
is free in the city of London to choose i5 but, being free in Italy to go whitherso- 
without all blame whether a man lust to ever lust will carry them, they do not 
wear shoe or pantocle. And good cause like that law and honesty should be such 
why; for, being unlike in truth of re- a bar to their like liberty at home in 
ligion, they must needs be unlike in hon- England. And yet they be the greatest 
esty of living. For blessed be Christ, in 20 makers of love, the daily dalliers, with 
our city of London commonly the com- such pleasant words, with such smiling 
mandments of God be more diligently and secret countenances, with ^such signs, 
taught, and the service of God more rev- tokens, wagers, purposed to be lost before 
erently used, and that daily in many they were purposed to be made, with bar- 
private men's houses, than they be in 25 gains of wearing colors, flowers, and 
Italy once a week in their common herbs, to breed occasion of offer meeting 
churches ; where making ceremonies to of him and her, and bolder talking of this 
delight the eye, and vain sounds to please and that, etc. A-nd although I have seen 
the ear, do quite thrust out of the churches some, innocent of all ill and staid in all 
all service of God in spirit and truth. 30 honesty, that have used these things with- 
\ Yea, the Lord Mayor of London, being out all harm, without all suspicion of 
I but a civil officer, is commonly, for his harm, yet these knacks were brought first 
I time, more diligent in punishing sin, the into England by them that learned them 
I bent enemy against God and good order, before in Italy in Circe's court; and how 
■than all the bloody inquisitors in Italy 35 courtly courtesies soever they be counted 
be in seven years. For their care and now, yet, if the meaning and manners of 
charge is not to punish sin, not to amend some that do use them were somewhat 
manners, not to purge doctrine, but only amended, it were no great hurt neither 
to watch and oversee that Christ's true re- to themselves nor to others, 
ligion set no sure footing where the Pope 40 Another property of this our English 
hath any jurisdiction. I learned, when Italians is to be marvelous singular in 
-- I was at Venice, that there it is counted all their matters : singular in knowledge, 
good policy, when there be four or five ignorant of nothing; so singular in wis- 
brethren of one family, one only to marry, dom (in their own opinion) as scarce they 
and all the rest to welter with as little 45 count the best counselor the prince hath 
shame in open lechery as swine do here comparable with them; common discour- 
in the common mire. Yea, there be as sers of all matters; busy searchers of 
fair houses of religion, as great provision, most secret affairs ; open flatterers of 
as diligent officers to keep up this mis- great men; privy mislikers of good men; 
order, as Bridewell is and all the mas- 50 fair speakers, with smiling countenances 
ters there to keep down misorder. And, and much courtesy openly to all men; 
therefore, if the Pope himself do not only ready backbiters, sore nippers, and spite- 
grant pardons to further these wicked f ul reporters privily of good men. And 
purposes abroad in Italy, but also (al- being brought up in Italy in some free 
though this present Pope in the beginning 55 city, as all cities be there, where a man 
made some show of misliking thereof) may freely discourse against what he will, 
assign both meed and merit to the main- against whom he lust, against any prince, 
t^n^nce of stews and brothel-houses at against any government, yea, against C^ ' 



THE SCHOOLMASTER 75 



himself and his whole religion; where he me, until they begin to amend themselves, 
must be either Guelph or Ghibelin, either I touch not them that be good; and I say 
French or Spanish, and always compelled too little of therri that be not; and so, 
to be of some party, of some faction, he though not enough for their deserving, 
shall never be compelled to be of any re- 5 yet sufficiently for this time, and more 
ligion; and if he meddle not over-much else when if occasion so require, 
with Christ's true religion, he shall have And thus far have I wandered from my 
free liberty to embrace all religions, and first purpose of teaching a child, yet not 
become, if he lust, at once, without any altogether out of the way, because this 
let or punishment, Jewish, Turkish, pa- 10 whole talk hath tended to the only ad- 
pish, and devilish. vancement of truth in religion and hon- 

A young gentleman thus bred up in this esty of living; and hath been wholly 

goodly school, to learn the next and ready within the compass of learning and good 

way to sin, to have a busy head, a factious manners, the special points belonging in 

heart, a talkative tongue, fed with dis- 15 the right bringing up of youth. 

coursing of factions, led to contemn God But to my matter, as I began plainly 

and his religion, shall come home into and simply with my young scholar, so will 

England but very ill taught, either to be I not leave him, God willing,, until I have 

an honest man himself, a quiet subject to brought him a perfect scholar out of the 

his prince, or willing to serve God under 20 school, and placed him in the university, 

the obedience of true doctrine, or within to become a fit student for logic and rhet- 

the order of honest living. oric : and so after to physic, law, or di- 

I know none will be offended with this vinity, as aptness of nature, advice of 

my general writing, but only such as find friends, and God's disposition shall lead 

themselves guilty privately therein : who 25 him. 
shall have good leave to be offended with 



JOHN LYLY (i554?-i6o6) 



Of the events of Lyly's life little is known. After taking his degree from Oxford, thus 
securing for himself the somewhat invidious title of ' university wit,' he supported himself in 
London by his pen. Although his nine plays had an important influence in the development 
of pre-Shaksperean drama, and although they represent his most valuable contribution to 
English literature, Lyly is best known, probably, through the extravagant style of his Euphues, 
the Anatomy of Wit (1578) and Euphues and his England (1580). These two works, 
usually referred to in combination as Euphues, constitute, ostensibly, a romance. The story, 
however, meager at best, is almost infinitely attenuated by letters, * model ' conversations, 
and moral preachments. The interest of Euphues, — an interest more curious and historical 
than human, — lies in its unremitting artificiality of style, characterized especially by balance, 
alliteration, citations of classical examples, and references to natural history. 



From EUPHUES AND HIS ENG- rather bountifully to reward, being as far 
LAND from rigor when she might have killed, as 

her enemies were from honesty when they 

This queen being deceased, Elizabeth, could not, giving a general pardon when 
being of the age of twenty-two years, of 5 she had cause to use particular punish- 
more beauty than honor, and yet of more ments, preferring the name of pity before 
honor than any earthly creature, was the remembrance of perils, thinking no 
called from a prisoner to be a prince, revenge more princely than to spare when 
from the castle to the crown, from the she might spill, to stay when she might 
fear of losing her head, to be supreme lo strike, to proffer to save with mercy when 
head. And here, ladies, it may be you she might have destroyed with justice, 
will move a question, why this noble lady Here is the clemency worthy commenda- 
was either in danger of death, or cause of tion and admiration, nothing inferior to 
distress, which, had you thought to have the gentle disposition of Aristides, who, 
passed in silence, I would, notwithstand- 15 after his exile, did not so much as note 
ing, have revealed. them that banished him, saying with Alex- 

This lady all the time of her sister's ander that there can be nothing more no- 
reign was kept close, as one tbat ten- ble than to do well to those that deserve 
dered not those proceedings which were ill. 

contrary to her conscience, who, having 20 This mighty and merciful queen, having 
divers enemies, endured many crosses, but many bills of private persons that sought 
so patiently as in her deepest sorrow be foretime to betray her, burnt them all, 
she would rather sigh for the liberty of resembling Julius Caesar, who, being pre- 
the Gospel than her own freedom. Suf- sented with the like complaints of his 
fering her inferiors to triumph over her, 25 commons, threw them into the fire, say- 
her foes to threaten her, her dissembling ing that he had rather not know the names 
friends to undermine her, learning in all of rebels than have occasion to revenge, 
this misery only the patience that Zeno thinking it better to be ignorant of those 
taught Eretricus to bear and forbear, that hated him than to be angry with 
never seeking revenge, but, with good Ly- 3° them. 

curgus, to lose her own eye rather than This clemency did her Majesty not only 

to hurt another's eye. show at her coming to the throne, but also 

But being now placed in the seat royal, throughout her whole government, when 
she first of all established religion, ban- she hath spared to shed their bloods that 
ished popery, advanced the Word, that be- 35 sought to spill hers, not racking the laws 
fore was so much defaced, who having in to extremity, but mitigating the rigor 
her hand the sword to revenge, used with mercy, insomuch as it may be said 

76 



EUPHUES AND HIS ENGLAND 'j'j 

of that royal monarch as it was of O divine nature, O heavenly nobility, 

Antoninus, surnamed the godly Emperor, what thing can there more be required 
who reigned many years without the effu- in a prince, than in greatest power to 
sion of blood. What greater virtue can show greatest patience, in chiefest glory 
there be in a prince than mercy; what 5 to bring forth chiefest grace, in abun- 
greater praise than to abate the edge dance of all earthly pomp to manifest 
which she should whet, to pardon where abundance of all heavenly piety? O for- 
she should punish, to reward where she tunate England that hath such a Queen, 
should revenge? ungrateful if thou pray not for her, 

I myself being in England when her lo wicked if thou do not love her, miserable 
Majesty was for her recreation in her if thou lose her. 
barge upon the Thames, heard of a gun * * * 

that was shot off, though of the party un- Touching the beauty of this prince, her 
wittingly, yet to her noble person danger- countenance, her personage, her majesty, 
ously, which fact she most graciously 15 I cannot think that it may be sufficiently 
pardoned, accepting a just excuse before commended, when it cannot be too much 
a great amends, taking more grief for her marveled at; so that I am constrained to 
poor bargeman, that was a little hurt, say as Praxitiles did, when he began to 
than care for herself that stood in great- paint Venus and her son, who doubted 
est hazar^. O rare example of pity, O 20 whether the world could afford colors 
singular spectacle of piety, good enough for two such fair faces, 

Divers besides have there been which and I, whether our tongue can yield 
by private conspiracies, open rebellions, words to blaze that beauty, the perfection 
close wiles, cruel witchcrafts, have sought whereof none can imagine; which seeing 
to end her life, which saveth all their 25 it is so, I must do like those that want 
lives,-whose practices by the divine provi- a clear sight, who, being not able to dis- 
dence of the Almighty, have ever been cern the sun in the sky, are enforced to 
disclosed, insomuch that he hath kept her behold it in the water. Zeuxis, having 
safe in the whale's belly when her sub- before him fifty fair virgins of Sparta 
jects went about to throw her into the 3° whereby to draw one amiable Venus, said 
sea, preserved her in the hot oven, when that fifty more fairer than those could not 
her enemies increased the fire, not suffer- minister sufficient beauty to show the 
ing a hair to fall from her, much less goddess of beauty; therefore, being in 
any harm to fasten upon her. These despair either by art to shadow her, or 
injuries and treasons of her subjects, 35 by imagination to comprehend her, he 
these policies and undermining of for- drew in a table a fair temple, the gates 
eign nations so little moved her, that she open, and Venus going in so as nothing 
would often say, ' Let them know that, could be perceived bq^ her back, wherein 
though it be not lawful for them to he used such cunning that Apelles him- 
speak what they list, yet it is lawful for 40 self, seeing this work, wished that Venus 
us to do with them what we list,' being would turn her face, saying that if it 
always of that merciful mind, which was were in all parts agreeable to the back, 
in Theodosius, who wished rather that he he would become apprentice to Zeuxis, 
might call the dead to life than put the and slave to Venus. In the like manner 
living to death, saying with Augustus 45 fareth it with me, for having all the 
when she should set her hand to any ladies in Italy, more than fifty hundred, 
condemnation, ' I would to God we could whereby to color Elizabeth, I must say 
not write.' Infinite were the examples with Zeuxis that as many more will not 
that might be alleged, and almost incredi- suffice, and therefore in as great an agony 
ble, whereby she hath shown herself a 5° paint her court with her back towards 
lamb in meekness, when she had cause to you, for that I cannot by art portray her 
be a lion in might, proved a dove in beauty, wherein, though I want the skill 
favor, when she was provoked to be an to do it as Zeuxis did, yet viewing it 
eagle in fierceness, requiting injuries with narrowly, and comparing it wisely, you 
benefits, revenging grudges with gifts, in 55 all will say that if her face be answerable 
highest m.ajesty bearing the lowest mind, to her back, you will like my handicraft 
forgiving all that sued for mercy, and and become her handmaids. In the mean 
forgetting all that deserved justice. season, I leave you gazing until she tvirn 



;8 JOHN LYLY 

her face, imagining her to be such a one philosophy, who taught Pericles ; exceed- 
as nature framed to that end, that no art ing in judgment Themistoclea, who in- 
should imitate, wherein she hath proved structed Pythagoras. Add to these qual- 
herself to be exquisite, and painters to ities, those that none of these had; the 
be apes. 5 French tongue, the Spanish, the Italian, 

This beautiful mold when I beheld to not mean in every one, but excellent in 
be indued with chastity, temperance, all ; readier to correct escapes in those 
mildness, and all other good gifts of na- languages than to be controlled; fitter to 
ture (as hereafter shall appear), when I teach others than learn of any; more able 
saw her to surpass all in beauty, and yet a lo to add new rules than to err in the old ; 
virgin, to excel all in piety, and yet a insomuch as there is no ambassador that 
prince, to be inferior to none in all the cometh into her court but she is willing 
lineaments of the body, and yet superior and able both to understand his message 
to every one in all gifts of the mind, I and utter her mind; not like unto the 
began thus to pray, that as she hath lived 15 kings of Assyria, who answered ambas- 
forty years a virgin in great majesty, so sadors by messengers, while they them- 
she may live four score years a mother selves either dally in sin or snort in 
with great joy, that as with her we have sleep. Her godly zeal to learning, with 
long time had peace and plenty, so by her great skill, hath been so manifestly 
her we may ever have quietness and 20 approved that I cannot tell whether she 
abundance, wishing this even from the deserve more honor for her knowledge, 
bottom of a heart that wisheth well to or admiration for her courtesy, who in 
England, though feareth ill, that either great pomp hath twice directed her prog- 
the world may end before she die, or she ress unto the universities, with no less 
live to see her children's children in the 25 joy to the students- than glory to her 
world ; otherwise how fickle their state state. Here, after long and solemn dis- 
is that now triumph, upon what a twist putations in law, piiysic, and divinity, 
they hang that now are in honor, they not as one wearied with scholars's argu- 
that live shall see, which I to think on, ments, but wedded to their orations, when 
sigh ! But God for his mercy's sake, 3° every one feared to offend in length, she 
Christ for his merits' sake, the Holy in her own person, with no less praise to 
Ghost for his name's sake, grant to that her Majesty than delight to her subjects, 
realm comfort without any ill chance, and with a wise and learned conclusion, both 
the prince they have without any other gave them thanks, and put herself to 
change, that the longer she liveth, the 35 pains. O noble pattern of a princely 
sweeter she may smell, like the bird Ibis, mind, not like to the kings of Persia, 
that she may be triumphant in victories, who in their progresses did nothing else 
like the palm tree? fruitful in her age but cut sticks to drive away the time, nor 
like the vine, in all ages prosperous, to like the delicate lives of the Sybarites, 
all men gracious, in all places glorious, 40 who would not admit any art to be exer- 
so that there be no end of her praise cised within their city that might make 
until the end of all flesh. the least noise. Her wit so sharp, 

Thus did I often talk with myself, and that if I should repeat the apt answers, 
wish with mine whole soul. the subtle questions, the fine speeches. 

Why should I talk of her sharp wit, 45 the pithy sentences, which on the sudden 
excellent wisdom, exquisite learning, and she hath uttered, they would rather breed 
all other qualities of the mind, wherein admiration than credit. But such are 
she seemeth as far to excel those that have the gifts that the living God hath indued 
been accounted singular, as the learned her withal, that look in what art or Ian- 
have surpassed those that have been 50 guage, wit or learning, virtue or beauty 
thought simple. any one hath particularly excelled most, 

In questioning, not inferior to Nicaulia, she only hath generally exceeded every 
the queen of Saba, that did put so many one in all, insomuch that there is nothing- 
hard doubts to Solomon ; equal to Nicos- to be added that either man would wish 
trata in the Greek tongue, who was 55 in a M^oman, or God doth give to a 
thought to give precepts for the better creature. 

perfection ; more learned in the Latin I let pass her skill in music, her knowl- 

than Amalasunta; passing Aspasia in edge in all the other sciences, whenas J 



EUPHUES AND HIS ENGLAND 79 

fear lest by my simplicity I should make that all nations round about her, threat- 
them less than they are, in seeking to ening alteration, shaking swords, throw- 
show how great they are, unless I were ing fire, menacing famine, murder, de- 
praising her in the gallery of Olympia, struction, desolation, she only hath stood 
where giving forth one word, I might 5 like a lamp on the top of a hill, not fear- 
hear seven. ing the blasts of the sharp winds, but 

But all these graces, although they be trusting in his providence that rideth 
to be wondered at, yet her politic gov- upon the wings of the four winds. Next 
ernment, her prudent counsel, her zeal to followeth the love she beareth to her sub- 
religion, her clemency to those that sub-iojects, who no less tendereth them than 
mit, her stoutness to those that threaten, the apple of her own eye, showing herself 
so far excee(3 all other virtues that they a mother to the afflicted, a physician to 
are more easy to be marveled at than the sick, a sovereign and mild governess 
imitated. to all. 

Two and twenty years hath she borne 15 Touching her magnanimity, her maj- 
the sword with such justice, that neither esty, her estate royal, there was neither 
offenders could complain of rigor, nor Alexander, nor Galba the Emperor, nor 
the innocent of wrong; yet so tempered any, that might be compared with her. 
with mercy as malefactors have been This is she that, resembling the noble 

sometimes pardoned upon hope of grace, 20 queen of Navarre, useth the marigold for 
and the injured requited to ease their her flower, which at the rising of the 
grief, insomuch that in the whole course sun openeth her leaves, and at the settmg 
of her glorious reign, it could never be shutteth them, referring all her actions 
said that either the poor were oppressed and endeavors to him that ruleth the sun. 
without remedy, or the guilty repressed 25 This is that Caesar, that first bound the 
without cause, bearing this engraven in crocodile to the palm tree, bridling those 
her noble heart, that justice without that sought to rein her. This is that 
mercy were extreme injury, and pity ' good pelican, that to feed her people 
without equity, plain partjality, and that spareth not to rend her own person, 
it is as great tyranny not to mitigate 30 This is that mighty eagle, that hath 
laws, as iniquity to break them. thrown dust into the eyes of the hart 

Her care for the flourishing of the Cos- that went about to work destruction to her 
pel hath well appeared whenas neither subjects, into whose wings although the 
the curses of the Pope (which are bless- blind beetle would have crept, and so 
ings to good people) nor the threatenings 35 being carried into her nest, destroyed her 
of kings (which are perilous to a prince) young ones, yet hath she with the virtue 
nor the persuasions of papists (which are of her feathers, consumed that fly in his 
honey to the mouth) could either fear own fraud. She hath exiled the swal- 
her or allure her to violate the holy low that sought to spoil the grasshopper, 
league contracted with Christ, or to 4° and given bitter almonds to the ravenous 
maculate the blood of the ancient Lamb, wolves that endeavored to devour the 
which is Christ. But always constant in silly lambs, burning even with the breath 
the true faith, she hath to the exceeding of her mouth like the princely stag, the 
joy of her subjects, to the unspeakable serpents that were engendered by the 
comfort of her soul, to the great glory of 45 breath of the huge elephant, so that now 
God, established that religion the main- all her enemies are as whist as the bird 
tenance whereof she rather seeketh to Attagen, who never singeth any tune 
confirm by fortitude, than leave off for after she is taken, nor they being so 
fear, knowing that there is nothing overtaken. 

smelleth sweeter to the Lord than a sound 50 But whither do I wade, ladies, as one 
spirit, which neither the hosts of the un- forgetting himself, thinking to sound the 
godly nor the horror of death can either depth of her virtues with a few fathoms, 
remove or move. when there is no bottom; for I know 

This Gospel with invincible courage, not how it cometh to pass that, being in 
with rare constancy, with hot zeal, she 55 this labyrinth, I may sooner lose myself 
hath maintained in her own countries than find the end. 

without change, and defended against all Behold, ladies, in this glass a queen, 

kingdoms that sought change, insomuch a woman^ a virgin in all gifts of the body. 



8o 



JOHN LYLY 



in all graces of the mind, in all perfection 
of either, so far to excel all men, that I 
know not whether I may think the place 
too bad for her to dwell among men. 

To talk of other things in that court 
were to bring eggs after apples, or after 
the setting out of the sun, to tell a tale of 
a shadow. 

But this I say, that all offices are looked 
to with great care, that virtue is em- 
braced of all, vice hated, religion daily 
increased, manners reformed, that who- 
so seeth the place there, will think it 
rather a church for divine service than a 
court for princes' delight. 

This is the glass, ladies, wherein I 
would have you gaze, wherein I took my 
whole delight; imitate the ladies in Eng- 
land, amend your manners, rub out the 
wrinkles of the mind, and be not curious 
about the weams in the face. As_ for 
their Elizabeth, since you can neither 
sufficiently marvel at her, nor I praise 
her, let us all pray for her, which is the 
only duty we can perform, and the great- 
est that we can proffer. 

Yours to command, 

EUPHUES. . 

* * * 
APELLES' SONG 

(From ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE) 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid. 

He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows, 

His mother's doves and team of sparrows; 

Loses them too; then down he throws 5 

The coral of his Hp, the rose 

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 

With these, the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win. lo 

At last he set her both his eyes ; 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love, has she done this to thee? 

What shall, alas ! become of me ? 

SPRING'S WELCOME 

(From ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE) 

What bird so sings, yet so does wail? 
O 'tis the ravished nightingale. 
' Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,' she cries, 
And still her woes at midnight rise. 
Brave prick-song! who is 't now we hear? 5 
None but the lark so shrill and clear; 
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, 
The morn not waking till she sings. 



Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat 
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note ! lo 

Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, 
' Cuckoo,' to welcome in the spring ! 
' Cuckoo,' to welcome in the spring ! 

SAPPHO'S SONG 

(From SAPPHO and phao) 

O cruel Love ! on thee I lay 

My curse, which shall strike blind the day; 

Never may sleep with velvet* hand 

Charm thine eyes with sacred wand; 

Thy jailors still be hopes and fears; 5 

Thy prison-mates groans, sighs, and tears ; 

Thy play to wear out weary times, 

Fantastic passions, vows, and rimes; 

Thy bread be frowns; thy drink be gall; 

Such as when you Phao call; '^ 

The bed thou liest on be despair ; 

Thy sleep, fond dreams; thy dreams, long 

care; 
Hope (like thy fool) at thy bed's head. 
Mock thee, till madness strikes thee dead. 
As, Phao, thou dost me, with thy proud 

eyes. '5 

In thee poor Sappho lives, in thee she dies. 

SONG 

(From gallathea) 

Telusa: O yes, O yes! if any maid 
Whom leering Cupid has betrayed 
To frowns of spite, to eyes of scorn, 
And would in madness now see torn 
The boy in pieces, — 

All Three: Let her come 

Hither, and lay on him her doom. 

EuROTA : O yes, O yes ! has any lost 
A heart which many a sigh hath cost; 
Is any cozened of a tear *<* 

Which, as a pearl, disdain does wear? 

All Three: Here stands the thief; let her 
but come 
Hither, and lay on him her doom. 

Larissa: Is any one undone by fire. 

And turned to ashes through desire? iS 
Did ever any lady weep, 
Being cheated of her golden sleep 
Stol'n by sick thoughts? 

All Three : The pirate 's found 

And in her tears he shall be drowned. 
Read this indictment, let him hear ^i 

What he 's to trust to. Boy, give ear ! 



SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586) 

Sidney's parents were Sir Henry Sidney, subsequently lord deputy in Ireland, and Lady 
Mary Dudley, daughter of the Duke of Northumberland. After an agreeable schooling at 
Shrewsbury, Sidney took up residence at Christ Church, Oxford, a residence which he cut 
short in order to travel abroad, after the fashion of young men of rank. At the time of the 
Massacre of St. Bartholomew, August 23^, 1572, he was in Paris, and subsequently his 
travels, during about four years, extended to Germany, Italy, and other parts of the Continent. 
Of these travels, one interesting legacy is his Latin correspondence with the distinguished 
Huguenot, Hubert Languet. In 1576-77, Sidney was abroad on a diplomatic mission to the 
Emperor Rudolf II. As a courtier he was esteemed and honored on the continent, both for 
his personal charm and for his genuine talent. Although he was a favorite of Queen Eliza- 
beth, his opposition to her proposed marriage with the Duke of Anjou may have been the cause 
of his retirement, for a time, to Wilton, where he wrote Arcadia, a pastoral romance (pub- 
lished 1590) , in honor of his sister, the countess of Pembroke, and An Apology for Poetry 
(published 1595). During this period of retirement, also, he may have begun writing the 
sonnets and songs addressed to Penelope Devereux, and published, in 1591, as Astrophel and 
Stella. In 1582, Sidney was knighted by the queen, who is said to have interfered later 
against his being offered the Polish crown. In 1585, the queen appointed him governor of 
Flushing, on the coast of the Netherlands. During the siege of Zutphen, in an expedition to 
intercept a Spanish convoy, he was mortally wounded, and died, October 17, 1586. 

Short-lived as he was, Sidney acquired a substantial place in English literature, as a masterly 
poet of the courtly order, as a charming romancer, and as a gentle but firm critic. The 
charm of his poetry and romance extended to his criticism, and gave to his somewhat too 
orthodox canons, a permanent allurement of frankness, gentleness, and humor. 



From AN APOLOGY FOR POETRY Jatnes of Scotland; such cardinals as 

Bembus and Bibiena; such famous 
But since I have run so long a career preachers and teachers as Beza and 
in this matter, methinks, before I give Melancthon ; so learned philosophers as 
my pen a full stop, it shall be but a little 5 Fracastorius and Scaliger; so great ora- 
more lost time to inquire, why England, tors as Pontanus and Muretus ; so pierc- 
the mother of excellent minds, should ing wits as George Buchanan; so grave 
be grown so hard a step-mother to poets, councilors as, besides many, but before 
who certainly in wit ought to pass all all, that Hospital of France, than whom, 
others, since all only proceeds from their lo I think, that realm never brought forth a 
wit, being, indeed, makers of themselves, more accomplished judgment, more firmly 
not takers of others. How can I but builded upon virtue; I say these, with 
exclaim, nurtibers of others, not only to read others' 

poesies, but to poetize for others' reading: 

Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine 15 that poesy, thus embraced in all other 

laeso? places, should only find in our time a hard 

[Muse, bring to my mind the reasons: welcome in England, I think the very 

for the injury of what divinity?] earth laments it, and therefore decks our 

soil with fewer laurels than it was accus- 
Sweet poesy ! that hath anciently had 20 tomed. For heretofore poets • have in 
kings, emperors, senators, great captains, England also flourished; and, which is to 
such as besides a thousand others, David, be noted, even in those times when the 
Adrian, Sophocles, Germanicus, not only trumpet of Mars did sound loudest. And 
to favor poets, but to be poets; and of now that an over- faint quietness should 
our nearer times can present for her 25 seem to strew the house for poets, they 
patrons; a Robert, King of Sicily; the are almost in as good reputation as the 
great King Francis of France; King mountebanks at Venice. Truly, even 

81 



SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 



that, as of the one side it giveth great any that have strength of wit; a poet 
praise to poesy, which, like Venus (but no industry can make, if his own genius 
to better purpose), had rather be troubled be not carried into it. And therefore is 
in the net with Mars, than enjoy the it an old proverb, Orator fit, pocta nasci- 
homely quiet of Vulcan; so serves it for 5 tur [The orator is made, the poet 
a piece of a reason why they are less born]. Yet confess I always, that, as 
grateful to idle England, which now can the fertilest ground must be manured, so 
scarce endure the pain of a pen. Upon must the highest flying wit have a 
this necessarily followeth that base men Daedalus to guide him. That Daedalus, 
with servile wits undertake it, who think lo they say, both in this and in other, hath 
it enough if they can be rewarded of the three wings to bear itself up into the air 
printer; and so as Epaminondas is said, of due commendation; that is, art, imita- 
with the honor of his virtue, to have tion, and exercise. But these, neither 
made an office by his exercising it, which artificial rules, nor imitative patterns, we 
before was contemptible, to become 15 much cumber ourselves withal. Exer- 
highly respected ; so these men, no more cise, indeed, we do, but that very fore- 
but setting their names to it, by their backwardly; for where we should exer- 
own disgracefulness, disgrace the most cise to know, we exercise as having 
graceful poesy. For now, as if all the known ; and so is our brain delivered of 
Muses were got with child, to bring forth 20 much matter which never was begotten 
bastard poets, without any commission, by knowledge. For there being two 
they do post over the banks of Helicon, principal parts, matter to be expressed 
until they make their readers more by words, and words to express the mat- 
weary than post-horses; while, in the ter, in neither we use art or imitation 
meantime, they, 25 rightly. Our matter is quodlibct [what 

you will], indeed, although wrongly, per- 

Queis meliore lute finxit praecordia Titan, forming Ovid's verse, 

[Whose heart-strings the Titan fastened 

with a better clay] Quicquid conabor dicere, versus erit; 

30 [Whatever I shall try to say will be verse] 
are better content to suppress the out- 

flowings of their wit than by publishing never marshaling it into any assured 
them to be accounted knights of the same rank, that almost the readers cannot tell 
order. " where to find themselves. 

But I that, before ever I durst aspire 35 Chaucer, undoubtedly, did excellently 
unto the dignity, am admitted into the in his Troiliis and Criseyde; of whom, 
company of the paper-blurrers, do find truly, I know not whether to marvel 
the very true cause of our wanting esti- more, either that he in that misty time 
mation is want of desert, taking upon us could see so clearly, or that we in this 
to be poets in despite of Pallas. Now, 40 clear age go so stumblingly after him. 
wherein we want desert, were a thank- Yet had he great wants, fit to be forgiven 
worthy labor to express. But if I in so reverend antiquity. I account the 
knew, I should have mended myself ; but Mirror for Magistrates meetly furnished 
as I never desired the title, so have I of beautiful parts. And in the Earl of 
neglected the means to come by it ; only, 45 Surrey's lyrics, many things tasting of 
overmastered by some thoughts, I a noble birth, and worthy of a noble 
yielded an inky tribute unto them. mind. The Shepherd's Calendar hath 
Marry, they that delight in poesy itself, much poetry in its eclogues, indeed, wor- 
should seek to know what they do, and thy the reading, if I be not deceived, 
how they do, and, especially, look them- 50 That same framing of its style to an old 
selves in an unflattering glass of reason, rustic language, I dare not allow ; since 
if they be inclinable unto it. neither Theocritus in Greek, Virgil in 

For poesy must not be drawn by the Latin, nor Sannazaro in Italian, did af- 
ears, it must be gently led, or rather it feet it. Besides these, I do not remember 
must lead; which was partly the cause 55 to have seen but few (to speak boldly) 
that made the ancient learned affirm it printed that have poetical sinews in 
was a divine gift, and no human skill, them. For proof whereof, let but most 
since all other knowledges lie ready for of the verses be put in prose, and then 



AN APOLOGY FOR POETRY 83 



ask the meaning, and it will be found imagnie ; and art hath taught and all 
that one verse did but beget another, ancient examples justified, and at this day 
without ordering at the first what should the ordinary players in Italy will not err 
be at the last; which becomes a con- in. Yet will some bring in an example 
fused mass of words, with a tinkling 5 of the Eunuch in Terence, that containeth 
sound of rime, barely accompanied with matter of two days, yet far short of 
reason. twenty years. True it is, and so was 

Our tragedies and comedies (not with- it to be played in two days, and so fitted 
out cause, cried out against) observing to the time it set forth. And though 
rules neither of honest civility nor of 10 Plautus have in one place done amiss, let 
skilful poetry, excepting Gorhoduc (again us hit it with him, and not miss with him. 
I say of those that I have seen), which But they will say, How then shall we 

notwithstanding, as it is full of stately set forth a story which contains both 
speeches and well-sounding phrases, many places and many times? And do 
climbing to the height of Seneca's 15 they not know that a tragedy is tied to the 
style, and as full of notable morality, laws of poesy, and not of history ; not 
which it does most delightfully teach, and bound to follow the story, but having 
so obtain the very end of poesy; yet, in liberty either to feign a quite new matter, 
truth, it is very defections in the cir- or to frame the history to the most trag- 
cumstances, which grieves me, because 20 ical conveniency ? Again, many things 
it might not remain as an exact model of may be told, which cannot be showed : if 
all tragedies. For it is faulty both in they know the difference betwixt report- 
place and time, the two necessary com- ing and representing. As, for example, I 
panions of all corporal actions. For may speak, though I am here, of Peru, 
where the stage should always represent 25 and in speech digress from that to the 
but one place, and the uttermost time pre- description of Calicut ; but in action I 
supposed in it should be, both by Aris- cannot represent it without Pacolet's 
totle's precept, and common reason, but horse. And so was the manner the an- 
one day, there is both many days and cients took, by some Nuntius [Messen- 
many places inartificially imagined. 30 ger] to recount things done in former 

! But if it be so in Gorboduc, how much time, or other place. 

I!: more in all the rest? where you shall Lastly, if they will represent an his- 

!J-: have Asia of the one side, and Afric of tory, they must not, as Horace saith, be- 
js. the other, and so many otiier under king- gin abovo, [from the egg] but they must 

i\ doms, that the player, when he comes in, 35 come to the principal point of that one ac- 
must ever begin with telling where he is, tion which they will represent. By ex- 
or else the tale will not be conceived. ample this will be best expressed. I have 
1] Now you shall have -three ladies walk to a story of young Polydorus, delivered, for 
[r gather flowers, and then we must believe safety's sake, with great riches, by his 
I i the stage to be a garden. By and by, we 40 father Priamus to Polymnestor, King of 
' ; hear news of shipwreck in the same Thrace, in the Trojan war time. He, 
\ place, and then we are to blame if we after some years, hearing the overthrow 
[ accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of Priamus, for to make the treasure his 
\ of that comes out a hideous monster, with own, murdereth the child ; the body of 
ri fire and smoke, and then the miserable 45 the child is taken up by Hecuba; she, the 
\ beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; same day, findeth a sleight to be revenged 
while, in the meantime, two armies fly most cruelly of the tyrant. Where, now, 
in, represented with four swords and would one of our tragedy-writers begin, 
bucklers, and then, what hard heart will but with the delivery of the child ? Then 
not receive it for a pitched field? 50 should he sail over into Thrace, and so 

Now, of time they are much more lib- spend I know not how many years, and 
eral; for ordinary it is, that two yovmg travel numbers of places. But where 
princes fall in love; after many traverses doth Euripides? Even with the finding 
she is got with child; delivered of a fair of the body; leaving the rest to be told by 
boy; he is lost, groweth a man, falls in 55 the spirit of Polydorus. This needs no 
love, and is ready to get another child; further to be enlarged; the dullest wit 
and all this in two hours' space; which, may conceive it. 
how absurd it is in sense, even sense may But, besides these gross absurdities, 



84 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 



how all their plays be neither right rather pained than delighted with laugh- 
tragedies nor right comedies, mingling ter. Yet deny I not, but that they may 
kings and clowns, not because the matter go well together; for, as in Alexander's 
so carrieth it, but thrust in clowns by picture well set out, we delight without 
head and shoulders to play a part in 5 laughter, and in twenty mad antics we 
majestical matters, with neither decency laugh without delight: so in Hercules, 
nor discretion; so as neither the admira- painted with his great beard and furious 
tion and commiseration, nor the right countenance, in a woman's attire, spin- 
sportfulness, is by their mongrel tragi- ning at Omphale's commandment, it 
comedy obtained. I know Apuleius did 1° breedeth both delight and laughter ; for 
somewhat so, but that is a thing re- the representing of so strange a power in 
counted with space of time, not repre- love procures delight, and the scornful- 
sented in one moment: and I know the ness of the action stirreth laughter, 
ancients have one or two examples of But I speak to this purpose, that all the 

tragi-comedies, as Plautus hath Amphi- 15 end of the comical part be not upon such 
truo. But, if we mark them well, we shall scornful matters as stir laughter only, but 
find that they never, or very daintily, mix with it that delightful teaching which 
match hornpipes and funerals. So fall- is the end of poesy. And the great fault, 
eth it out, that, having, indeed, no right even in that point of laughter, and for- 
comedy in that comical part of our 20 bidden plainly by Aristotle, is, that they 
tragedy, we have nothing but scurrility, stir laughter in sinful things, which are 
unworthy of any chaste ears ; or some ex- rather execrable than ridiculous ; or in 
treme show of doltishness, indeed fit to miserable, which are rather to be pitied 
lift up a loud laughter, and nothing else; than scorned. For what is it to make 
where the whole tract of a comedy should 25 folks gape at a wretched beggar, and a 
be full of delight as the tragedy should be beggarly clown ; or against the law of 
still maintained in a well-raised admira- hospitality, to jest at strangers, because 
tion, they speak not English so well as we do? 

But our comedians think there is no what do we learn? since it is certain, 
delight without laughter, which is very 30 

wrong; for though laughter may come Nil habet infeiix paupertas durius in se, 

with delight, yet cometh it not of delight, Quam quod ridicules, homines facit. 

as though delight should be the cause of [Of all the griefs that harass the distrest, 
laughter; but well may one thing breed Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest] 

both together. Nay, in themselves, they 35 

have, as it were, a kind of contrariety. But rather a busy loving courtier, a heart- 
For delight we scarcely do, but in things less threatening Thraso ; a self-wise-seem- 
that have a conveniency to ourselves, or ing schoolmaster; a wry-transformed 
to the general nature. Laughter almost traveler: these, if we saw walk in stage 
ever cometh of things most dispropor- 40 names, which we play naturally, therein 
tioned to ourselves and nature : delight were delightful laughter, and teaching de- 
hath a joy in it, either permanent or lightfulness : as in the other, the tragedies 
present; laughter hath only a scornful of Buchanan do justly bring forth a 
tickling. For example : we are ravished divine admiration. 

with delight to see a fair woman, and yet 45 But I have lavished out too many words 
are far from being moved to laughter ; we of this play matter ; I do it, because, as 
laugh at deformed creatures, wherein cer- they are excelling parts of poesy, so is 
tainly we cannot delight; we delight in there none so much used in England, and 
good chances; we laugh at mischances; none can be more pitifully abused; which, 
we delight to hear the happiness of our 50 like an unmannerly daughter, showing a 
friends or country, at which he were bad education, causeth her mother Poesy's 
worthy to be laughed at that would honesty to be called in question, 
laugh: we shall, contrarily, laugh' some- Other sorts of poetry, almost have we 

times to find a matter quite mistaken, and none, but that lyrical kind of songs and 
go down the hill against the bias, in the 55 sonnets, which, if the Lord gave us so 
mouth of some such men, as for the re- good minds, how well it might be em- 
spect of them, one shall be heartily sorry, ployed, and with how heavenly fruits, 
yet he cannot choose but laugh, and so is both private and public in singing the 



AN APOLOGY FOR POETRY 8$ 



praises of the immortal beauty, the im- derbolt of eloquence, often used the figure 
mortal goodness of that God, who giveth of repetition. 

as hands to write, and wits to conceive; Yivlt. Vivit? imo in Senatum venit, etc. 
of which we might well want \yords, but ^jj^ y^^^^_ Lives? nay comes to the Senate] 
never matter; of which we could turn our 5 

eyes to nothing, but we should ever have Indeed, inflamed with a well-grounded 
new budding occasions. But, truly, many rage, he would have his words, as it were, 
of such writings as come under the ban- double out of his mouth ; and so do that 
ner of irresistible love, if I were a mis- artificially which we see men do in choler 
tress, would never persuade me they were lo naturally. And we, having noted the 
in love; so coldly they apply fiery grace of those words, hale them in some- 
spjeeches, as men that had rather read times to a familiar epistle, when it were 
lovers' writings, and so caught up certain too much choler to be choleric, 
swelling phrases, which hang together — How well, store of ' similiter cadences ' 
like a man which once told me, ' the wind 15 doth sound with the gravity of the pulpit, 
was at northwest and by south,' because I would but invoke Demosthenes' soul to 
he would be sure to name winds enough — • tell, who with a rare daintiness useth 
than that, in truth, they feel those pas- them. Truly, they have made me think 
sions, which easily, as I think, may be of the sophister, that with too much 
bewrayed by the same forcibleness, or 20 subtlety would prove two eggs three, and, 
energia (as the Greeks call it), of the though he might be counted a sophister, 
writer. But let this be a sufficient, though had none for his labor. So these men 
short note, that we miss the right use of bringing in such a kind of eloquence, well 
the material point of poesy. may they obtain an opinion of a seeming 

Now for the outside of it, which is 25 fineness, but persuade few, which should 
words, or, as I may term it, diction, it is be the end of their fineness, 
even well worse ; so is that honey-flowing Now for similitudes in certain printed 
matron Eloquence, appareled, or rather discourses, I think all herbalists, all 
disguised, in a courtesan-like painted af- stories of beasts, fowls, and fishes are 
fectation. One time with so far-fetched 3o rifled up, that they come in multitudes to 
words, that may seem monsters, but must wait upon any of our conceits, which 
seem strangers to any poor Englishman: certainly is as absurd. a surfeit to the ears 
another time with coursing of a letter, as as is possible. For the force of a simili- 
if they were bound to follow the method tude not being to prove anything to a 
of a dictionary : another time with figures 35 contrary disputer, but only to explain to 
and flowers, extremely winter-starved. a willing hearer: when that is done, the 

But I would this fault were only rest is a most tedious prattling, rather 
peculiar to versifiers, and had not a's large overswaying the memory from the pur- 
possession among prose printers : and, pose whereto they were applied, than any 
which is to be marveled, among many 40 whit informing the judgment, already 
scholars, and, which is to be pitied, among either satisfied, or by similitudes not to 
some preachers. Truly, I could wish (if be satisfied. 

at least I might be so bold to wish, in a For my part, I do not doubt, when An- 
thing beyond the reach of my capacity) tonius and Crassus, the great forefathers 
the diligent imitators of Tully and De- 45 of Cicero in eloquence, the one (as Cicero 
mosthenes, most worthy to be imitated, testifieth of them) pretended not to know 
did not so much keep Nizolian paper- art, the other not to set by it, because with 
books of their figures and phrases, as by a plain sensibleness they might win credit 
attentive translation, as it were, devour of popular ears, which credit is the near- 
them whole, and make them wholly theirs. 50 est step to persuasion (which persuasion 
For now they cast sugar and spice upon is the chief mark of oratory) ; I do not 
every dish that is served to the table : like doubt, I say, but that they used these 
those Indians, not content to wear ear- knacks very sparingly; which who doth 
rings at the fit and natural place of the generally use, any man may see, doth 
ears, but they will thrust jewels through 55 dance to his own music; and so to be 
their nose and lips, because they will be noted bv the audience, more careful to 
sure to be fine. Tully, when he was to speak curiously than to speak truly. Un- 
drive out Catiline, as it were with a thun- doubtedly (at least to my opinion, un- 



86 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 



doubtedly) I have found in divers small- more fit for music, both words and tune 
learned courtiers a more sound style than observing quantity; and more fit lively to 
in some professors of learning; of which express divers passions, by the low and 
I can guess no other cause, W that the lofty sound of the well-weighed syllable, 
courtier following that which by practice 5 The latter, likewise, with his rime striketh 
he findeth fittest to nature, therein (though a certain music to the ear; and, in fine, 
he know it not) doth according to art, since it doth delight, though by another 
though not by art : where the other, using way, it obtains the same purpose ; there 
art to show art, and not to hide art (as being in either, sweetness, and wanting 
in these cases he should do), flieth from lo in neither, majesty. Truly the English, 
nature, and indeed abuseth art. before any other vulgar language I know, 

But what! methinks I deserve to be is fit for both sorts; for, for the ancient, 
pounded for straying from poetry to ora- the Italian is so full of vowels, that it 
tory : but both have such an affinity in the must ever be cumbered with elisions. The 
wordish considerations, that I think this 15 Dutch so of the other side with conso- 
digression will make my meaning receive nants, that they cannot yield the sweet 
the fuller understanding: which is not to sliding fit for a verse. The French, in 
take upon me to teach poets how they his whole language, hath not one word 
should do, but only finding myself sick that hath its accent in the last syllable, 
among the rest, to show some one or two 20 saving two, called antepenultiraa ; and 
spots of the common infection grown little more hath the Spanish ; and, there- 
among the most part of writers ; that, ac- fore, very gracelessly may they use 
knowledging ourselves somewhat awry, dactyls. The English is subject to none 
we miay bend to the right use both of mat- of these defects. 

ter and manner : whereto our language 25 Now for rime, though we do not ob- 
giveth us great occasion, being, indeed, serve quantity, yet we observe the accent 
capable of any excellent exercising of it. very precisely, which other languages 
I know some will say, it is a mingled either cannot do, or will not do so ab- 
language : and why not so much the better, solutely. That caesura, or breathing- 
taking' the best of both the other? An- 30 place, in the midst of the verse, neither 
other will say, it wanteth grammar. Nay, Italian nor Spanish have, the French and 
truly, it hath that praise, that it wanteth we never almost fail of. Lastly, even the 
not grammar; for grammar it might have, very rime itself the Italian cannot put in 
but it needs it not; being ^o easy in itself, the last syllable, by the French named the 
and so void of those cumbersome differ- 35 masculine rime, but still in the next to 
ences of cases, genders, moods, and the last, which the French call the female ; 
tenses; which, I think, was a piece of the or the next before that, which the Italians 
Tower of Babylon's curse, that a man term sdrncciola: the example of the for- 
should be put to school to learn his mer is, biwno, suono ; of the sdrucciola is, 
mother tongue. But for the uttering 4° femina, semina. The French, of the 
sweetly and properly the conceits of the other side, hath both the male, as hon, son, 
mind, which is the end of speech, that and the female, as plaise, taise; but the 
hath it equally with any other tongue in sdrucciola he hath not; where the Eng- 
the world, and is particularly happy in lish hath all three, as ' due,' ' true,' 
compositions of two or three words to- 45 ' father,' ' rather,' ' motion,' ' potion ' ; 
gether, near the Greek, far beyond the with much more which might be said, but 
Latin; which is one of the greatest beau- that I find already the triflingness of 
ties can be in a language. this discourse is much too much enlarged. 

Now, of versifying there are two sorts. So that since the ever praiseworthy 

the one ancient, the other modern ; the an- 50 poesy is full of virtue-breeding delight- 
cient marked the quantity of each syllable, fulness, and void of no gift that ought to 
and according to that, framed its verse; be in the noble name of learning; since 
the modern, observing only number, with the blames laid against it are either false 
some regard of the accent, the chief life or feeble; since the cause ■ why it is not 
of it standeth in that like sounding of the 55 esteemed in England is the fault of poet- 
words, which we call rime. Whether of apes, not poets; since, lastly, our tongue 
these be the more excellent, would bear is most fit to honor poesy, and to be hon- 
many speeches; the ancient, no doubt ored by poesy; I conjure vou all that 



ASTROPHEL AND STELLA 87 



have had the evil hick to read this ink- poets; that while you hve, you Hve in 
wasting toy of mine, even in the name of love, and never get favor, for lacking 
the Nine Muses, no more to scorn the sa- skill of a sonnet; and when you die, your 
cred mysteries of poesy; no more to laugh memory die from the earth for want of 
at the name of poets, as though they were 5 an epitaph, 
next inheritors to fools; no more to jest 
at the reverend title of a rimer; but to 

believe, with Aristotle, that they were the ASTROPHEL AND STELLA 

ancient treasurers of the Grecians' divin- i 

ity; to believe, with Bembus, that they 10 1^^^,;^^ jj, truth, and fain in verse my love 
•were the first brmgers m of all civility ; ^^ show 

to believe, with Scaliger, that no philoso- j^^^ ^j^^^ ^^^^ sl^e^ j^^igh^ ^ake some pleasure 

pher's precepts can sooner make you an ^f ^^y p^jj-j 

honest man, than the reading of Virgil ; pleasure might cause her read, reading might * 

to believe, with Clauserus, the translator 15 make her know 

of Cornutus, that it pleased the heavenly Knowledge might pi'ty win, and pity grace 

deity by Hesiod and Homer, under the obtain 

veil of fables, to give us all knowledge, j ^^^^^^^ ^^ ^ords to paint the blackest face 
logic, rhetoric, philosophy natural and of -^^oe s 

moral, and Quid nonf [Why not] to 20 Studying indentions fine, her wits to cnter- 
believe, with me, that there are many tain 

mysteries contained in poetry, which of Qft turning others' leaves, to see if thence 
purpose were written darkly, lest by pro- would flow 

fane wits it should be abused; to believe, Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my 
with Landin, that they are so beloved of 25 sunburnt brain. 

the gods that whatsoever they write pro- But words came halting forth, wanting In- 
ceeds of a divine fury. Lastly, to believe vention's stay 

themselves, when they tell y6u they will invention. Nature's child, fled step-dame 
make you immortal by their verses. Study's blows; 10 

Thus doing, your names shall flourish in 30 And others' feet still seemed but strangers' 
the printers' shops: thus doing, you shall in my way. 

be of kin to many a poetical preface : thus Thus, great with child to speak, and help- 
doing, you shall be most fair, most rich, less in my throes, ' 
most wise, most all: you shall dwell upon Biting my truant pen, beating myself for 
superlatives: thus doing, though you be 35 spite- 

Libcrtino paire natiis IBornoisiireedman ' Pool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy 
father], you shall suddenly grow Herciilea heart and write.' 

proles [Descendant of Hercules], 

Si quid mea Carmina possunt : 40 ^^^ 

[If my poems are good for anything] When Nature made her chief work, Stella's 

eyes, 
Thus doing, your soul shall be placed with In color black why wrapt she beams so 
Dante's Beatrice, or Virgil's Anchises. bright? ,,,,., 

But if (fie of such a but!) you be born 45 Would she, in beamy black, like pamter 

so near the dull-making cataract of Nilus, wise, _ ■ , , , , . 

that you cannot hear the planet-like music Frame daintiest luster, mixed of shades and 

of poetry; if you have so earth-creeping hght ? 

a mind that it cannot lift itself up to look Or did she else that sober hue devise, s 
to the sky of poetry, or rather, by a cer- 50 In object best to knit and strength our 

tain rustical disdain, will become such a sight; 

Mome, as to be a Momus of poetry; then. Lest, if no veil these brave gleams did dis- 

though I will not wish unto you the ass's guise, , , , , 

ears of Midas, nor to be ■ driven by a They, sunlike, should more dazzle than de- 
poet's verses, as Bubonax was, to hang 55 light? 

himself; nor to be rimed to death, as is Or would she her miraculous power show, 
said to be done in Ireland ; yet thus much That, whereas black seems Beauty's con- 
curs? I tniist send you in the behalf of all trary 10 



88 



SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 



She even in black doth make all beauties 

flow? 
Both so, and thus, — she, minding Love 

should be 
Placed ever there, gave him this mourning 

weed 
To honor all their deaths which for her 

bleed. 

XV 

You that do search for every purling spring 
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus 

flows. 
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which 

grows 
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring; 
You that do dictionary's method bring S 
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows ; 
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased 

woes 
With new-born sighs and denizened wit do 

sing; 
You take wrong ways ; those far-f et helps 

be such 
As do bewray a want of inward touch, lo 
And sure, at length stolen goods do come to 

light : 
But if, both for your love and skill, your 

name 
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of 

Fame, 
Stella behold, and then begin to endite. 

XXI 

Your words, my friend, right healthful 

caustics, blame 
My young mind marred, whom Love doth 

windlass so ; 
That mine own writings, like bad servants, 

show 
My wits quick in vain thoughts, in virtue, 

lame; 
That Plato I read for naught but-if he 

tame 5 

Such coltish years ; that to my birth I owe 
Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe. 
Great Expectation, wear a train of shame: 
For since mad March great promise made 

of me. 
If now the May of my years much decline, lo 
What can be hoped my harvest-time will 

be? 
Sure, you say well, ' Your wisdom's golden 

mine 
Dig deep with Learning's spade.' Now tell 

me this — 
Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is? 



With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st 

the skies ! 
How silently, and with how wan a face! 
What, may it be that even in heavenly place 
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ! 
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 5 
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's 

case, 
I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace,. 
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
Is constant love deemed there but want of 

wit? 10 

Are beauties there as proud as here they 

be? 
Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
Those lovers scorn whom that love dotb 

possess? 
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? 

XXXII 

Morpheus, the lively son of deadly Sleep, 
Witness of life to them that living die, 
A prophet oft, and oft an history, 
A poet eke, as humors fly or creep; 
Since thou in me so sure a power dost 
keep, 5 

That never I with closed-up sense do lie, 
But by thy work my Stella I descry. 
Teaching blind eyes both how to smile atiC 

weep; 

Vouchsafe, of all acquaintance, this to tell. 

Whence hast thou ivory, rubies, pearl, and 

gold, 10 

To show her skin, lips, teeth, and head so 

well? 
* Fool ! ' answers he ; 'no Indes such treas- 
ures hold ; 
But from thy heart, while my sire charmeth 

thee. 
Sweet Stella's image I do steal to me.' 



Come, Sleep! Sleep, the certain knot of 
peace. 

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's re- 
lease, 

Th' indifferent judge between the high and 
low; 

With shield of proof shield me from out 
the press 5 

Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth 
throw : 

make in me those civil wars to cease; 

1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 



ASTROPHEL AND STELLA 



89 



Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest 

bed, 
A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
A rosy garland and a weary head: " 

And if these things, as being thine by right, 
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in 

me, 
Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 



Having this day my horse, my hand, my 

lance 
Guided so well that I obtained the prize. 
Both by the judgment of the English eyes 
And of some sent from that sweet enemy, 

France ; 4 

Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, 
Town folks my strength; a daintier judge 

applies 
His praise to sleight which from good use 

doth rise; 
Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; 
Others, because of both sides I do take 9 
My blood from them who did excel in this, 
Think Nature me a man-at-arms did make. 
How far they shot awry ! the true cause 

is, 
Stella looked on, and from her heavenly face 
Sent forth the beams which made so fair 



my race. 



LXIV 



No more ! My Deaf, no more these counsels 
try! 

give my passions leave to run their race ! 
Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace ! 
Let folk o'ercharged with brain, against me 

cry! 
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine 
, eye! s 

Let me no steps but of lost labor trace ! 
Let all the earth in scorn recount my case ; 
But do not will me from my love to fly ! 

1 do not envy Aristotle's wit ; 

Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame; 1° 
Nor ought do care, though some above me 

sit; 
Nor hope, nor wish another course to 

frame : 
But that which once may win thy cruel 

heart. 
Thou art my wit, and thou my virtue art. 

cvii 

Stella, since thou so right a princess art 
Of all the powers which life bestows on me ; 
That ere by them ought undertaken be. 



The first resort unto that sovereign part. 

Sweet, for a while give respite to my heart, 5 

Which pants as though it still should leap 
to thee; 

And on my thoughts give thy lieutenancy 

To this great cause, which needs both use 
and art. 

And as a queen, who from her presence 
sends 

Whom she employs, dismiss from thee my 
wit ! 10 

Till it have wrought what thy own will at- 
tends. 

On servants' shame oft master's blame doth 
sit. 

O let not fools in me thy works reprove; 

And scorning, say, ' See, what it is to love I ' 



ELEVENTH SONG 

'Who is it that this dark night 

Underneath my window plaineth?' 

It is one who from thy sight 

Being, ah I exiled, disdaineth 

Every other vulgar light. S 

'Why, alas! and are you he? 

Be not yet those fancies changed?' 

Dear, when you find change in me. 

Though from me you be estranged. 

Let my change to ruin be. 10 

' Well, in absence this will die ; 

Leave to see, and leave to wonder.' 

Absence sure will help, if I 

Can learn how myself to sunder 

From what in my heart doth lie. is 

'But time will these thoughts remove; 

Time doth work what no man knoweth.' 

Time doth as the subject prove; 

With time still the affection groweth 

In the faithful turtle-dove. 20 

'What if we new beauties see? 

Will not they stir new affection ? ' 

I will think they pictures be, 

(Image-like, of saint's perfection) 

Poorly counterfeiting thee. 25 

' But your reason's purest light 

Bids you leave such minds to nourish,' 

Dear, do reason no such spite; 

Never doth thy beauty flourish 

More than in my reason's sight. 3« 

' But the wrongs Love bears will make 
Love at length leave undertaking.' 



90 



SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 



No, the more fools it do shake, 

In the ground of so firm making, 

Deeper still they drive the stake. 35 

' Peace, I think that some give ear ! 

Come no more, lest I get anger ! ' 

Bliss, I vi'ill my bliss forbear ; 

Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; 

But my soul shall harbor there. 4° 

' Well, be gone ! be gone, I say. 

Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you ! ' 

O unjust is Fortune's sway. 

Which can make me thus to leave you ; 

And from louts to run away. 45 



SONG: THE NIGHTINGALE 

The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 

Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 

While late bare earth, proud of new cloth- 
ing, springeth. 

Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book 
making. 

And mournfully bewailing, s 

Her throat in tunes expresseth 

What grief her breast oppresseth 

For Tereus' force on her chaste will pre- 
vailing. 

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness. 

That here is juster cause of painful sad- 
ness: '° 

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; 

Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart in- 
vadeth. 



LOVE IS DEAD 

Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be 
spread ; 
For Love is dead : 
All Love is dead, infected 

With plague of deep disdain: 

Worth, as naught worth, rejected, 5 

And Faith fair scorn doth gain. 
From so ungrateful fancy, 
From such a female franzie. 
From them that use men thus. 
Good Lord, deliver us! Jo 

Weep, neighbors, weep; do you not hear it 
said 
That Love is dead ? 
His death-bed, peacock's folly ; 
His winding-sheet is shame ; 

His will, false-seeming holy; ^5 

His sole exec'tor, blame. 



From so ungrateful fancy. 

From such a female franzie, 

From them that use men thus. 

Good Lord, deliver us ! *o 

Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read. 
For Love is dead ; 
Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth 

My mistress' marble heart ; 

Which epitaph containeth, 25 

' Her eyes were once his dart.' 
From so ungrateful fancy. 
From such a female franzie. 
From them that use men thus, 
Good Lord, deliver us ! 3o 

Alas, I lie : rage hath this error bred ; 
Love is not dead; 

Love is not dead, but sleepeth 
In her unmatched mind, 

Where she his counsel keepeth, 35 

Till due deserts she find. 

Therefore from so vile fancy, 

To call such wit a franzie. 

Who Love can temper thus. 

Good Lord, deliver us ! 4c 

DORUS TO PAMELA 
(From Arcadia) 

My sheep are thoughts, which I both guide 
and serve ; 

Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless love. 

On barren sweets they feed, and feeding 
sterve. 

I wail their lot, but will not other prove ; 

My sheep-hook is wan hope, which all up- 
holds ; 5 

My weeds, desire, cut out in endless folds ; 

What wool my sheep shall bear, whilst thus 
they live. 

In you it is, you must the judgment give. 

A DITTY 

My true-love hath my heart and I have his, 
By just exchange one for the other given: 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. 
There never was a better bargain driven: 
My true-love hath my heart, and I hav^ 
his. 

His heart in me keeps him and me in one. 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses 

guides : 
He loves my heart, for once it was hi? 

own, 
I cherish his because in me it bides: 

My true-love hath my heart, and I have 

his. ''■' 



HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 

Richard Hakluyt (1553-1616) has been well termed by Professor Raleigh 'the Homei of 
our heroic age ' ; yet his aim was not so much to record great deedss as to inspire them, to urge 
his countrymen to explore and colonize unknown countries, to encourage trade with the distant 
parts of the earth, and to furnish maps and other helps to navigation. A clergyman and a 
student, he had no experience of the adventures ho described and prompted ; but he was much 
more than a mere compiler. He brought to his self-appointed task the devotion and enthusiasm 
of a lofty purpose, and must be given a high rank among those who founded the British 
Empire and established the Anglo-Saxon race beyond the seas. It was fortunate for posterity 
that the Elizabethan age of commercial enterprise and romantic adventure found a chronicler 
with leisure and ability to save its achievements from oblivion, for the voyagers themselves 
were, as a rule, too busy making history to write it. Most of them were much readier with the 
sword than with the pen ; Grenville's desperate resolution, Gilbert's religious valor, and Drake's 
restless daring would have been lost to literature, and perhaps even to history, if we had had 
to depend on their own records. Raleigh must be mentioned as a conspicuous exception ; 
he combined with the spirit of adventui'e a literary power which makes his narratives a 
strange contrast to the matter-of-fact or garrulous reports of his less gifted fellows. 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE TO SIR Lord, and his wonders in the deep, &c. 

FRANCIS WALSINGHAM Which words of the prophet, together with 

(From the first edition of the Voyages, ""^ ""TfK^ discourse (things of high and 

icSq) ^^^^ delight to my young nature), took m 

5 me so deep an impression that I constantly 

Right honorable, I do remember that be- resolved, if ever I were preferred to the 
ing a youth, and one of her Majesty's university, where better time and more 
scholars at Westminster, that fruitful convenient place might be ministered for 
nursery, it was my hap to visit the cham- these studies, I would by God's assistance 
ber of Mr. Richard Hakluyt, my cousin, a lo prosecute that knowledge and kind of lit- 
gentleman of the Middle Temple, well erature, the doors whereof, after a sort, 
known unto you, at a time when I found were so happily opened before me. 
lying open upon his board certain books According to which my resolution, 

of cosmography, with a universal map. when, not long after, I was removed to 
He, seeing me somewhat curious in the i5 Christ Church in Oxford, my exercises 
view thereof, began to instruct my igno- of duty first performed, I fell to my in- 
rance by showing me the division of the tended course, and by degrees read over 
earth into three parts after the old ac- whatsoever printed or written discoveries 
count, and then according to the latter, and voyages I found extant either in the 
and better distribution, into more. He 20 Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, Portugal, 
pointed with his wand to all the known French, or English languages, and in 'my 
seas, gulfs, bays, straits, capes, rivers, public lectures was the first that produced 
empires, kingdoms, dukedoms, and terri- and showed both the old imperfectly com- 
tories of each part, with declaration also posed, and the new lately reformed maps, 
of their special commodities, and particu- 25 globes, spheres, and other instruments of 
lar wants, which, by the benefit of traffic this art for demonstration in the common 
and intercourse of merchants, are plenti- schools, to the singular pleasure and gen- 
fully supplied. From the map he brought eral contentment of my auditory. In con- 
me to the Bible, and turning to the 107th tinuance of time, and by reason principally 
Psalm, directed me to the 23rd and 24th 30 of my insight in this study, I grew fa- 
verses, where I read, that they which go miliarly acquainted with the chiefest cap- 
down to the sea in ships and occupy by tains at sea, the greatest merchants, and 
the great waters, they see the works of the the best mariners of our nation ; by which 

01 



92 HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 



means having gotten somewhat more than ages they have been men full of activity, 
common knowledge, I passed at length the stirrers abroad, and searchers of the re- 
narrow seas into France with Sir Ed- mote parts of the world, so in this most 
ward Stafford, her Majesty's careful and famous and peerless government of her 
discreet Ligier, where during my five 5 most excellent Majesty, her subjects, 
years' abode with him in his dangerous through the special assistance and blessing 
and chargeable residence in her Highness' of God, in searching the most opposite 
service, I both heard in speech, and read corners and quarters of the world, and to 
in books other nations miraculously ex- speak plainly, in compassing the vast globe 
tolled for their discoveries and notable en- 10 of the earth more than once, have excelled 
terprises by sea, but the English of all all the nations and people of the earth, 
others for their sluggish security, and For which of the kings of this land before 
continual neglect of the like attempts, es- her Majesty had their banners ever seen 
pecially in so long and happy a time of in the Caspian sea? which of them hath 
peace, either ignominiously reported, or 15 ever dealt with the emperor of Persia as 
. exceedino-ly condemned; which singular her Majesty hath done, and detained for 
opportuntty, if some other people, our her merchants large and loving privileges? 
neighbors, had been blessed with, their who ever saw, before this regiment, an 
protestations are often and vehement, they English Ligier in the stately porch of the 
would far otherwise have used. * * * 20 Grand Signor at Constantinople ? who ever 
Thus both hearing and reading the oblo- found English consuls and agents at Trip- 
quy of ournation,' and finding few or none olis in Syria, at Aleppo, at Babylon, at 
of our own men able to reply herein ; and Balsara, and which is more, who ever 
further, not seeing any man to have care heard of Englishman at Goa before now? 
to recommend to the world the industrious 25 what English ships did heretofore ever 
labors and painful travels of our country- anchor in the mighty river of Plate? pass 
men: for stopping the mouths of the re- and repass the unpassable (in former opin- 
proachers, myself being the last winter re- ion) Strait of Magellan, range along the 
turned from France with the honorable coast of Chili, Peru, and all the backside 
the Lady Sheffield, for her passing good 30 of Nova Hispania. further than any chris- 
behavior highly esteemed in all the tian ever passed, traverse the mighty 
French court, determined notwithstanding breadth of the South Sea, land upon the 
all difficulties to undertake the burden of Luzones in despite of the enemy, enter 
that work wherein all others pretended into alliance, amity, and traffic with the 
either ignorance or lack of leisure, or 35 princes of the Moluccas and the isle of 
want of sufficient argument, whereas (to Java, double the famous cape of Bona 
speak truly) the huge toil and the small Speranza, arrive at the isle of St. Helena, 
profit to ensue were the chief causes of and last of all return home most richly 
the refusal. I call the work a burden in laden with the commodities of China, as 
consideration that these voyages lay so 40 the subjects of this now flourishing mon- 
dispersed, scattered, and hidden in several archy have done? 
hucksters' hands, that I now wonder at * * * 

myself to see how I was able to endure the 
delays, curiosity, and backwardness of 

many from whom I was to receive my 45 THE LAST FIGHT OF THE RE- 
originals, so that I have just cause to VENGE 

make that complaint of the maliciousness 

of divers in our time which Pliny made (From ' a report of the truth of the fight 

of the men of his age : At nos elaborata about the isles of Azores, the last of Aug- 
iis abscondere atque supprimere cupimus, 50 ust, 1591, betwixt the Revenge, one of her 
et fraudare vitam etiam alienis bonis, &c. Majesty's ships and an armada of the 
[But we desire to hide away and suppress king of Spain. Penned by the honorable 
their achievements, and to rob life even of Sir Walter Raleigh, knight.') 
the glories of others.] The Lord Thomas Howard with six of 

To harp no longer upon this string, and 55 her Majesty's ships, six victualers of Lon- 
to speak a word of that just commenda- don, the bark Raleigh, and two or three 
tion which our nation do indeed deserve : other pinnaces riding at anchor near unto 
it cannot be denied, but as in all former Flores, one of the westerly islands of th** 



THE LAST FIGHT OF THE REVENGE 93 

Azores, the last of August in the after- fused to turn from the enemy, alleging 
noon, had intelHgence by one Captain that he would rather choose to die than to 
Middleton of the approach of the Spanish dishonor himself, his country, and her 
armada. Which Middleton, being in a Majesty's ship, persuading his company 
very good sailer, had kept them company S that he would pass through the two squad- 
three'days before, of good purpose both rons in despite of them and enforce those 
to discover their forces the more, as also to of Seville to give him way. Which he 
give advice to my Lord Thomas of their performed upon divers of the foremost, 
approach. He had no sooner delivered the who, as the mariners term it, sprang their 
news but the fleet was in sight ; many of 10 luff, and fell under the lee of the Re- 
our ships' companies were on shore in the venge. But the other course had been 
island, some providing ballast for their the better, and might right well have been 
ships, others filling of water and refresh- answered in so great an impossibility of 
ing themselves from the land with such prevailing. Notwithstanding, out of the 
things as they could, either for money, or 15 greatness of his mind, he could not be per- 
by force, recover. By reason whereof, suaded. In the meanwhile, as he attended 
our ships being all pestered and rummag- those which were nearest him, the great 
ing, every thing out of order, very light San Philip, being in the wind of him and 
for want of ballast, and that which was coming towards him, becalmed his sails 
most to our disadvantage, the one half 20 in such sort, as the ship could neither 
part of the men of every ship sick and ut- make way nor feel the helm ; so huge and 
terly unserviceable; for in the Revenge high carged was the Spanish ship, being 
there were ninety diseased, in the Bona- of a thousand and five hundred tons. 
venture not so many in health as could Who after laid the Revenge aboard. When 
handle her mainsail. For had not twenty 25 he was thus bereft of his sails, the ships 
men been taken out of a bark of Sir that w'ere under his lee, luffing up, also 
George Carey's, his being commanded to laid him aboard, of which the next was 
be sunk, and those appointed to her, she the admiral of the Biscayans, a very 
had hardly ever recovered England. The mighty and puissant ship commanded by 
rest, for the most part, were in little better 30 Brittandona. The said Philip carried 
state. The names of her Majesty's ships three tiers of ordnance on a side, and 
were these, as followeth : the Defiance, eleven pieces in every tier. She shot 
which was admiral; the Revenge, vicead- eight forth right out of her chase, besides 
miral ; the Bonaventure, commanded by those of her stern ports. 
Captain Cross ; the Lion by George Fen- 35 After the Revenge was entangled with 
ner; the Foresight by Mr. Thomas Vava- this Philip, four others boarded her, two 
sour ; and the Crane by Duffield. The on her larboard, and two on her starboard. 
Foresight and the Crane being but small The fight, thus beginning at three of the 
ships, only the others were of the middle clock in the afternoon, continued very ter- 
size ; the rest, besides the bark Raleigh, 40 rible all that evening. But the great San 
commanded by Captain Thin, were victual- Philip, having received the lower tier of 
ers, and of small force or none. The the Revenge, discharged with crossbar 
Spanish fleet, having shrouded their ap- shot, shifted herself with all diligence 
proach by reason of the island, were now from her sides, utterly misliking her first 
so soon at hand as our ships had scarce 45 entertainment. Some say that the ship 
time to weigh their anchors, but some of foundered, but we cannot report it for 
them were driven to let slip their cables truth, unless we were assured. The Span- 
and set sail. Sir Richard Grenville was ish ships were filled with companies of sol- 
the last that weighed, to recover the men diers, — in some two hundred besides the 
that were upon the island, which otherwise 50 mariners, in some five, in others eight 
had been lost. The Lord Thomas with the hundred. In ours there were none at all 
rest very hardly recovered the wind, which beside the mariners but the servants of the 
Sir Richard Grenville not being able to commanders and some few voluntary gen- 
do, was persuaded by the master and tlemen only. After many interchanged 
others to cut his mainsail and cast about, 55 volleys of great ordnance and small shot, 
and to trust to the sailing of the ship, for the Spaniards deliberated to enter the Re- 
the squadron of Seville were on his venge, and made divers attempts, hoping 
weather bow. But Sir Richard utterly re- to force .her by the multitudes of their 



94 hIAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 



armed soldiers and musketeers, but were but in the morning, bearing with the Re- 
still repulsed again and again, and at all vcnge, was hunted like a hare amongst 
times beaten back into their own ships, or many ravenous hounds, but escaped, 
imo the seas. In the beginning of the All the powder of the Revenge to the 

fight, the George Noble of London, hav- 5 last barrel was now spent, all her pikes 
ing received some shot through her by broken, forty of her best men slain, and 
the armadas, fell under the lee of the Re- the most part of the rest hurt. In the be- 
venge, and asked Sir Richard what he ginning of the fight she had but one hun- 
would command him, being but one of the dred free from sickness, and fourscore and 
victualers and of small force. Sir Rich- lo ten sick, laid in hold upon the ballast : 
ard bade him save himself, and leave him a small troop to man such a ship, and a 
to his fortune. After the fight had thus, weak garrison to resist so mighty an army, 
without intermission, continued while the By those hundred all was sustained, the 
day lasted and some hours of the night, volleys, boardings, and enterings of fifteen 
many of our men were slain and hurt, 15 ships of war, besides those which beat 
and one of the great galleons of the ar- her at large. On the contrary, the Span- 
mada, and the admiral of the hulks both ish were always supplied with soldiers 
sunk, and in many other of the Spanish brought from every squadron, all manner 
ships great slaughter was made. Some of arms and powder at will. Unto ours 
write that Sir Richard was very danger- 20 there remained no comfort at all, no hope, 
ously hurt almost in the beginning of the no supply either of ships, men, or weap- 
fight, and lay speechless for a time ere he ons ; the masts all beaten overboard, all 
recovered. But two of the Rcz>engc's own her tackle cut asunder, her upper work 
company brought home in a ship of Lima altogether razed, and in effect evened she 
from the islands, examined by some of the 25 was with the water, but the very founda- 
lords and others, affirmed that he was tion or bottom of a ship, nothing being 
never so wounded as that he forsook the left overhead, either for flight or defence, 
upper deck, till an hour before midnight, Sir Richard, finding himself in this dis- 
and then, being shot into the body with a tress, and unable any longer to make re- 
musket, as he was dressing was again 3° sistance, having endured, in this fifteen 
shot into the head, and withal his surgeon hours' fight, the assault of fifteen several 
wounded to death. This agreeth also with armadas, all by turns aboard him, and by 
an examination, taken by Sir Francis Go- estimation eight hundred shot of great ar- 
dolphin, of four other mariners of the same tillery, besides many assaults and entries ; 
ship, being returned, which examination 35 and that himself and the ship must needs 
the said Sir Francis sent unto Master Wil- be possessed by the enemy, who were now 
liam Killigrew, of her Majesty's privy all cast in a ring round about him, (the 
chamber. Revenge not able to move one way or 

But to return to the fight: the Spanish other, but as she was moved with the 
ships which attempted to board the i^r- 40 waves and billows of the sea), commanded 
venge, as they were wounded and beaten the master gunner, whom he knew to be 
off, so always others came in their places, a most resolute man, to split and sink the 
she having never less than two mighty ship, that thereby nothing rftight remain 
galleons by her sides and aboard her. So of glory or victory to the Spaniards, see- 
that ere the morning, from three of the 45 ing in so many hours' fight, and with so 
clock the day before, there had fifteen great a navy, they were not able to take 
several armadas assailed her; and all so her, having had fifteen hours' time, above 
ill approved their entertainment as they ten thousand men, and fifty and three sail 
were by the break of day far more willing of men-of-war to perform it withal ; and 
to hearken to a composition than hastily 50 persuaded the company, or as many as he 
to make any more assaults or entries, could induce, to yield themselves unto God, 
But as the day increased, so our men and to the mercy of none else ; but as they 
decreased; and as the light grew more had, like valiant resolute men, repulsed 
and more, by so much more grew our dis- so many enemies, they should not now 
comforts. For none appeared in sight but 55 shorten the honor of their nation by pro- 
enemies, saving one small ship called the longing their own lives for a few hours 
Pilgrim, commanded by Jacob Whiddon, or a few days. The master gunner readily 
who hovered all night to see the success^ condescended and divers others; but the 



THE LOSS OF SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 95 

captain and the master were of another nor any of them once to separate their 
opinion, and besought Sir Richard to have ships from him, unless he gave commis- 
care of them, alleging that the Spaniard sion so to do. Notwithstanding the vice- 
would be as ready to entertain a composi- admiral. Sir Richard Grenville, being in 
tion as they were wilhng to offer the same, 5 the ship called the Revenge, went into the 
and that there being divers sufficient and Spanish fleet and shot among them, doing 
valiant men yet living, and whose wounds them great hurt, and thinking the rest of 
were not mortal, they might do their coun- the company would have followed ; which 
try and prince acceptable service here- they did not, but left him there, and sailed 
after. And whereas Sir Richard had al- 10 away. The cause why could not be 
leged that the Spaniards should never known. Which the Spaniards perceiving, 
glory to have taken one ship of her Maj- with 7 or 8 ships they boarded her, but 
esty, seeing they had so long and so no- she withstood them all, fighting with them, 
tably defended themselves, they answered, at the least 12 hours together, and sunk 
that the ship had six foot water in hold, 15 two of them, one being a new double fly- 
three shot under water, which were so boat of 600 tons, and admiral of the fly- 
weakly stopped as with the first working boats, the other a Biscayan. But in the 
of the sea, she must needs sink, and was end, by reason of the number that came 
besides so crushed and bruised as she upon her, she was taken, but to their great 
could never be removed out of the place. 20 loss, for they had lost in fighting and by 

And as the matter was thus in dispute, drowning above 400 men, and of the Eng- 
and Sir Richard refusing to hearken to lish were slain about 100, Sir Richard 
any of those reasons, the master of the Grenville himself being wounded in his 
Revenge (while the captain won unto him brain, whereof afterwards he died, He 
the greater party) was convoyed aboard 25 was carr-'ed into the ship called San Paid, 
the General Don Alfonso Bazan. Who wherein was the admiral of the fleet, Don 
(finding none over hasty to enter the Re- Alonzo de Bazan. There his wounds were 
venge again, doubting lest Sir Richard dressed by the Spanish surgeons, but Don 
would have blown them up and himself, Alonzo himself would neither see him nor 
and perceiving by the report of the mas- 3° speak with him. All the rest of the cap- 
ter of the Revenge his dangerous dispo- tains and gentlemen went to visit him, 
sition) yielded that all their lives should be and to comfort him in his hard fortune, 
saved, the company sent for England, and Avondering at his courage and stout heart, 
the better sort to pay such reasonable ran- for that he showed not any sign of faint- 
som as their estate would bear, and in the 35 ness nor changing of color. But feeling 
ttiean season to be free from galley or im- the hour of death to approach, he spake 
prisonment. To this he so much the these words in Spanish, and said : Here 
rather condescended as' well, as I have die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and 
said, for fear of further loss and mischief quiet mind, for that I have ended my life 
to themselves, as also for the desire he 40 as a true soldier ought to do, that hath 
had to recover Sir Richard Grenville, fought for his country, queen, religion, 
whom for his notable valor he seemed and honor, v/hereby my soul most joyful 
greatly to honor and admire. departeth out of this body, and shall al- 

* * ways leave behind it an everlasting fame 

45 of a valiant and true soldier, that hath 
done his duty, as he was bound to do. 
From LINSCHOTEN'S TESTIMONY When he had finished these or such other 

like words, he gave up the ghost, with 

The 13th of September the said ar- great and stout courage, and no man 
mada arrived at the island of Corvo, 50 could perceive any true sign of heaviness 
where the Englishmen with about 16 ships in him, 
as then lay, staying for the Spanish fleet, * * * 

whereof some or the most part were come, 

and there the English were in good hope THE LOSS OF SIR HUMPHREY GIL- 
to have taken them. But when they per- 55 BERT 

ceived the king's army to be strong, the 

admiral, being the Lord Thomas Howard, (From a report of the voyage and suc- 

commanded his fleet not to fall upon them, cess thereof, attempi^ed in the year of our 



96 HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 

Lord, 1583, by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, days and nights back again, as before we 
knight, with other gentlemen assisting him had done in eight days from Cape Race 
in that action, intended to discover and to unto the place where our ship perished, 
plant christian inhabitants in place con- which hindrance thitherward and speed 
venient, upon those large and ample 5 back again, is to be imputed unto the swift 
countries extended northward from the current, as well as to the winds, which 
cape of Florida, lying under very temper- we had more large in our return, 
ate climes, esteemed fertile and rich in This Monday the general came aboard 

minerals, yet not in the actual possession the Hind to have the surgeon of the Hind 
of any christian prince, written by Mr. 10 to dress his foot, which he hurt by tread- 
Edward Haie, gentleman, and principal ing upon a nail. At what time we com- 
actor in the same voyage, who alone con- forted each other with hope of hard suc- 
tinued to the end, and by God's special cess to be all past, and of the good to 
assistance returned home with his retinue come. So agreeing to carry out lights 
safe and entire.') i5 always by night, that we might keep to- 

So upon Saturday in the afternoon, the gether, he departed into his frigate, being 
31st of August, we changed our course by no means to be entreated to tarry in the 
and returned back for England, at which Hind, which had been more for his se- 
very instant, even in winding about, there curity. Immediately after followed a 
passed along between us and towards the 20 sharp storm which we overpassed for that 
land which we now forsook, a very lion time. Praised be God. 
to our seeming, in shape, hair, and color, The weather fair, the general came 

not swimming after the manner of a beast, aboard the Hind again to make merry 
by moving of his feet, but rather sliding together with the captain, master, and 
upon the water with his whole body (ex- 25 company, which was the last meeting, and 
cepting the legs) in sight; neither yet continued there from morning until night, 
diving under, and again rising above the During which time there passed sundry 
water, as the manner is of whales, dol- discourses, touching affairs past and to 
phins, tunnies, porpoises, and all other come, lamenting greatly the loss of his 
fish, but confidently showing himself above 30 great ship, more of the men, but most of 
water without hiding. Notwithstanding, all of his books and notes, and what else 
we presented ourselves in open view and I know not; for which he was out of 
gesture to amaze him, as all creatures will measure grieved, the same doubtless be- 
be commonly at a sudden gaze and sight ing some matter of more importance than 
of men. Thus he passed along turning his 35 his books, which I could not draw from 
head to and fro, yawning and gaping wide, him, yet by circumstance I gathered the 
with ugly demonstration of long teeth and same to be the ore which Daniel the Saxon 
glaring eyes, and to bid us a farewell had brought unto him in the New-found- 
( coming right against the Hind) he sent land. Whatsoever it was, the remem- 
forth a horrible voice, roaring or bellow- 4° brance touched him so deep as not able to 
ing as doth a lion, which "spectacle we all contain himself, he beat his boy in great 
beheld so far as we were able to discern rage, even at the same time, so long after 
the same, as men prone to wonder at the miscarrying of the great ship, because 
every strange thing, as this doubtless was, upon a fair day, when we were becalmed 
to see a lion in the ocean sea, or fish in 45 upon the coast of the New-found-land, 
shape of a lion. What opinion others had near unto Cape Race, he sent his boy 
thereof, and chiefly the general himself, aboard the admiral to fetch certain things, 
I forbear to deliver. But he took it for amongst which, this being chief, was yet 
bonuni omen [a good omen], rejoicing forgotten, and left behind. After which 
that he was to war against such an enemy, 50 time, he could never conveniently send 
if it were the devil. again aboard the great ship; much less 

The wind was large for England at our he doubted her ruin so near at hand, 
return, but very high, and the sea rough. Herein my opinion was better confirmed 

insomuch as the frigate wherein the gen- diversely, and by sundry conjectures, 
eral went was almost swallowed up. 55 which maketh me have the greater hope 

Monday in the afternoon (Sept. 2), we of this rich mine. For whereas the gen- 
passed in the sight of Cape Race, having eral had never before good conceit of 
made as much way in little more than two these north parts of the world, now his 



THE LOSS OF SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT 97 

mind was wholly fixed upon the New- frigate, which was overcharged upon their 
found-land. And as before he refused not decks, with fights, nettings, and small ar- 
te grant assignments liberally to them that tillery, too cumbersome for so small «, 
required the same into these north parts, boat that was to pass through the ocean 
now he became contrarily affected, refus- 5 sea at that season of the year, when by 
ing to make any so large grants, especially course we might expect much storm of 
of St. John's, which certain English mer- foul weather, whereof indeed we had 
chants made suit for, offering to employ enough. 

their money and travel upon the same. But when he was entreated by the cap- 

Yet neither by their own suit, nor of lo tain, master, and other his well-willers of 
others of his own company, whom he the Hind, not to venture in the frigate, 
seemed willing to pleasure, it could be ob- this was his answer : I will not forsake 
tained. my little company going homeward, with 

Also laying down his determination in whom I have passed so many storms and 
the spring following, for disposing of his 15 perils. And in very truth, he was urged 
voyage then to be re-attempted, he as- to be so over hard, by hard reports given 
signed the captain and master of the of him, that he was afraid of the sea, al- 
Golden Hind unto the south discovery, and beit this was rather rashness than advised 
reserved unto himself the north, affirming resolution, to prefer the wind of a vain 
that this voyage had won his heart from 20 report to the weight of his own life. 
the south, and that he was now become a Seeing he would not bend to reason, he 

northern man altogether. had provision out of the Hind, such as 

Last, being demanded what means he was wanting aboard his frigate. And so 
had at his arrival in England to compass we committed him to God's protection, and 
the charges of so great preparation as he 25 set him aboard his pinnace, we being more 
intended to make the next spring, having than 300 leagues onward of our way home, 
determined upon two fleets, one for the By that time we had brought the islands 

south, another for the north : Leave that of Azores south of us ; yet we then keep- 
to me (he replied), I will ask a penny of ing much to the north, until we had got 
no man. I will bring good tidings unto 30 into the height and elevation of England, 
her Majesty, who will be so gracious to we met with very foul weather r'nd terri- 
lend me 10,000 pounds, wilhng us there- ble seas, breaking short and high, pyramid 
fore to be of good cheer, for he did thank wise. The reason whereof seemed to pro- 
God (he said) v.ith all his heart for that ceed either of hilly grounds, high and low, 
he had seen, the same being enough for us 35 within the sea, (as we see hills and dales 
all, and that we needed not to seek any upon the land), upon which the seas do 
further. And these last words he would mount and fall ; or else the cause proceed- 
often repeat, with demonstration of great eth of diversity of winds, shifting often 
fervency of mind, being himself very con- in sundry points, all which having power 
fident and settled in belief of inestimable 40 to move the great ocean, which again is 
good by this voyage, which the greater not presently settled, so many seas do en- 
number of his followers nevertheless mis- counter together as there had been diver- 
trusted altogether, not being made partak- sity of winds. Howsoever it cometh to 
ers of those secrets, which the general pass, men which all their life time had oc- 
kept unto himself. Yet all of them that 45 cupied the sea, never saw more outrageous 
are living may be witnesses of his words seas. We had also upon our mainyard, an 
and protestations, which sparingly I have apparition of a little fire by night, which 
delivered. seamen do call Castor and Pollux. But 

Leaving the issue of this good hope unto we had only one, which they take an evil 
God, who knoweth the truth only, and can 50 sign of more tempest ; the same is usual 
at his good pleasure bring the same to in storms. 

light, I will hasten to the end of this trag- Monday the ninth of September, in the 

edy, which must be knit up in the person afternoon, the frigate was near cast away, 
of our general. And as it was God's or- oppressed by waves ; yet at that time re- 
dinance upon him, even so the vehement 55 covered; and giving forth signs of joy, 
persuasion and entreaty of his friends the general sitting abaft with a book in 
could nothing avail to divert him from his hand, cried out unto us in the Hind (so 
a wilful resolution of going through in his oft as we did approach within hearing) : 



98 HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 

We are as near to heaven by sea as by ance) in short time breaketh them, where- 
land. Reiterating the same speech, well by their bodies are notably preserved in 
beseeming a soldier, resolute in Jesus health, and know not many grievous dis- 
Christ, as I can testify he was. eases, wherewithal we in England are 

The same Monday night, about twelve 5 often times afflicted, 
of the clock, or not long after, the frigate This uppozvoc is of so precious estima- 

being ahead of us in the Golden Hind, tion amongst them, that they think their 
suddenly her lights were out, whereof, as gods are marvelously delighted therewith, 
it were in a moment, we lost the sight, and Whereupon sometimes they make hal- 
withal our watch cried, the general was cast lo lowed fires, and cast some of the powder 
away, which was too true. For in that mo- therein for a sacrifice. Being in a storm 
ment, the frigate was devoured and swal- upon the waters, to pacify their gods, 
lowed up of the sea. Yet still v/e looked they cast some up into the air and into the 
out all that night and ever after, until we water. So a weir for fish being newly set 
arrived upon the coast of England, omit- 15 up, they cast some therein and into the air. 
ting no small sail at sea, unto which we Also, after an escape of danger, they cast 
gave not the tokens between us agreed some into the air likewise ; but all don€ 
upon, to have perfect knowledge of each with strange gestures, stamping, sometime 
other, if we should at any time be sepa- dancing, clapping of hands, holding up of 
rated. 20 hands, and staring up into the heavens. 

In great torment of weather and peril uttering therewitbal, and chattering 

of drowning, it pleased God to send safe strange words and noises. 

home the Golden Hind, which arrived in We ourselves, during the time we were 

Falmouth, the 22nd day of September, be- there, used to suck it after their manner, 

ing Sunday, not without as great danger 25 as also since our return, and have found 

escaped in a fiaw, coming from the south- many rare and wonderful experiments of 

east, with such thick mist that we could the virtues thereof, of which the relation 

not discern land, to put in right with the would require a volume by itself. The 

haven. use of it by so many of late, men and 

30 women of great calling, as else, and some 

learned physicians also, is sufficient wit- 

A REPORT OF VIRGINIA ness. 

* * * 

(From *a brief and true report of the 
new-found land of Virginia, of the com- 35 

modifies there found and to be raised, as From RALEIGH'S DISCOVERY OF 
well merchantable as others. Written by GUIANA 

Thomas Heriot, servant to Sir Walter 

Raleigh, a member of the colony and there Upon this river one Captain George, 

employed in discovering a full twelve- 40 that I took with Berreo, told me there 
month.') was a great silver mine, and that it was 

There is an herb which is sowed apart near the banks of the said river. But by 
by itself, and is called by the inhabitants this time as well Orinoco, Caroli, as all the 
uppowoc. In the West Indies it hath rest of the rivers were risen four or five 
divers names, according to the several 45 feet in height so as it was not possible by 
places and countries where it groweth and the strength of any men, or with any boat 
is used; the Spaniards generally call it whatsoever to row into the river against 
tobacco. The leaves thereof being dried the stream.. I therefore sent Captain 
and brought into powder, they use to take Thyn, Captain Grenville, my nephew John 
the fume or smoke thereof by sucking it, 50 Gilbert, my cousin Butshead Gorges, Cap- 
through pipes made of clay, into their tain Clark, and some thirty shot more to 
stomach and head, from whence it pur- coast the river by land, and to go to a 
geth superfluous phlegm and other gross town some twenty miles over the valley 
humors, and opens all the pores and pas- called Amnatapoi. And they found guides 
sages of the body ; by which means the use 55 there to go farther towards the mountain 
thereof not only preserveth the body from foot to another great town called Capure- 
obstructions, but also (if any be, so that pana, belonging to a casique called Ha- 
they have not been of too long continu- haracoa (that was a nephew to old To- 



RALEIGH'S DISCOVERY OF GUIANA ^^^ 

piawari, king of Arromaia, our chiefest a flint, and is altogether as hard or harder ; 
friend) because this town and province of and besides the veins lie a fathom or two 
Capurepana adjoined to Macureguarai, deep in the rocks. But we wanted all 
which was a frontier town of the empire, things requisite, save only our desires and 
And the meanwhile myself with Captain 5 good will, to have performed more if it 
Gififord, Captain Calfield, Edward Han- had pleased God. To be short, when both 
cock, and some half a dozen shot marched our companies returned, each of them 
overland to view the strange overfalls of brought also several sorts of stones that 
the river of Caroli which roared so far appeared very fair, but were such as they 
off, and also to see the plains adjoining, lo found loose on the ground, and were for 
and the rest of the province of Canuri. the most part but colored, and had not any 
I sent also Captain Whiddon, William gold fixed in them; yet such as had no 
Connocke, and some eight shot with them, judgment or experience kept all that 
to see if they could find any mineral stone glistered, and would not be persuaded 
alongst the riverside. When we were 15 but it was rich because of the luster, and 
come to the tops of the first hills of the brought of those and of marquesite withal, 
plains adjoining to the river, we beheld from Trinidad, and have delivered of those 
that wonderful breach of waters which stones to be tried in many places, and have 
ran down Caroli, and might from that thereby bred an opinion that all the rest 
mountain see the river how it ran 20 is of the same. Yet some of these stones 
in three parts, above twenty miles off. I showed afterward to a Spaniard of the 
And there appeared some ten or twelve Caracas, who told me that it was el niadre 
overfalls in sight, every one as high over del oro, that is, the mother of gold, and 
the other as a church-tower, which fell that the mine was farther in the ground, 
with that fury, that the rebound of water 25 * * * 

made it seem as if it had been all covered I will enter no further into discourse of 
over with a great shower of rain ; and in their manners, laws, and customs, and 
some places we took it at the first for a because I have not myself seen the cities 
smoke that had risen over some great of Inca, I cannot avow on my credit what 
town. For mine own part, I was well 3° I have heard, although it be very likely 
persuaded from thence to have returned, that the Emperor Inca hath built and 
being a very ill footman, but the rest were erected as magnificent palaces in Guiana 
all so desirous to go near the said strange as his ancestors did in Peru, which were 
thunder of waters, as they drew me on by for their riches and rareness most marvel- 
little and little, till we came into the next 35 ous and exceeding all in Europe, and I 
valley, where we might better discern the think of the world, China excepted; which 
same. I never saw a more beautiful coun- also the Spaniards (which I had) assured 
try, nor more lively prospects, hills so me to be true, as also the nations of the 
raised here and there over the valleys, borderers, who, being but savages to those 
the river winding into divers branches, 40 of the inland, do cause much treasure to 
the plains adjoining without bush or stub- be buried with them. For I was informed 
ble, all fair green grass, the ground of of one of the casiques of the valley of 
hard sand, easy to march on, either for Amariocapana, which had buried with 
horse or foot, the deer crossing in every him, a little before our arrival, a chair of 
path, the birds towards the evening sing- 45 gold most curiously wrought, which was 
ing on every tree with a thousand sev- made either in Macureguaray adjoining, 
eral tunes, cranes, and herons of white, or in Manoa. But if we should have 
crimson, and carnation perching in the grieved them in their religion at the first, 
riverside, the air fresh with a gentle east- before they had been taught better, and 
erly wind, and every stone that we 50 have digged up their graves, we had lost 
stooped to take up, promised either gold them all. And therefore I held my first 
or silver by its complexion. Your lord- resolution that her Majesty should either 
ship shall see of many sorts, and I hope accept or refuse the enterprise ere any- 
some of them cannot be bettered under the thing should be done that might in any 
sun; and yet we had no means but with our 55 sort hinder the same. And if Peru had so 
daggers and fingers to tear them out here many heaps of gold, whereof those Incas 
and there, the rocks being most hard, of were princes, and that they delighted so 
that. mineral spar aforesaid, which is like much therein; no doubt but this which 



loo HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 



now liveth and reigneth in Manoa, hath lost not any one, nor had one ill disposed 
the same honor, and I am assured hath to my knowledge, nor found any calentura, 
more abundance of gold within his terri- or other of those pestilent diseases which 
tory than all Peru and the West Indies. dwell in all hot regions, and so near the 

For the rest, which myself have seen, I 5 equinoctial line, 
will promise these things that follow, 
which I know to be true. Those that are 

desirous to discover and to see many na- SIR FRANCIS DRAKE AT SAN DO- 
tions may be satisfied within this river, MINGO 

which bringeth forth so many arms and lo 

branches leading to several countries and (From * a summary and true discourse 

provinces, above 2000 miles east and west, of Sir Francis Drake's West Indian voy- 
and 800 miles south and north, and of age, begun in the year 1585. Wherein 
these the most either rich in gold or in were taken the cities of Saint lago, Santo 
other merchandises. The common soldier 15 Domingo, Cartagena, and the town of 
shall here fight for gold, and pay himself, Saint Augustine in Florida. Published by 
instead of pence with plates of half a foot Mr. Thomas Gates.') 

broad, whereas he breaketh his bones in All things being thus considered on, 

other wars for provant and penury, the whole forces were commanded in the 
Those commanders and chieftains that 20 evening to embark themselves in pin- 
shoot at honor and abundance, shall find naces, boats, and other small barks ap- 
there more rich and beautiful cities, more pointed for this service. Our soldiers 
temples adorned with golden images, more being thus embarked, the general put him- 
sepulchres filled with treasure than either self into the bark Francis as admiral, and 
Cortez found in Mexico, or Pizarro in 25 all this night we lay on the sea, bearing 
Peru ; and the shining glory of this con- small sail until our arrival to the landing 
quest will eclipse all those so far ex- place, which was about the breaking of 
tended beams of the Spanish nation, the day, and so we landed, being New 
There is no country which yieldeth more Year's Day, nine or ten miles to the west- 
pleasure to the inhabitants, either for those 30 ward of that brave city of San Domingo, 
common delights of hunting, hawking, for at that time, nor yet is known to us 
fishing, fowling, or the rest, than Guiana any landing place where the sea surge 
doth. It hath so many plains, clear rivers, doth not threaten to overset a pinnace or 
abundance of pheasants, partridges, quails, boat. Our general, having seen us all 
rails, cranes, herons, and all other fowl, 35 landed in safety, returned to his fleet, be- 
deer of all sorts, porks, hares, lions, tigers, queathing us to God, and the good conduct 
leopards, and divers other sorts of beasts, of Master Carliell, our lieutenant general : 
either for chase or food. It hath a kind at which time, being about eight of the 
of beast called cama, or anta, as big as an clock, we began to march, and about noon 
English beef, and in great plenty. 40 time, or towards one of the clock, we ap- 

To speak of the several sorts of every proached the town, where the gentlemen 
kind, I fear would be troublesome to the and those of the better sort, being some 
reader, and therefore I will omit them and hundred and fifty brave horses, or rather 
conclude that both for health, good air, more, began to present themselves. But 
pleasure, and riches I am resolved it can- 45 our small shot played upon them, which 
not be equaled by any region either in the were so sustained with good proportion 
east or west. Moreover the country is so of pikes in all parts, as they, finding no 
healthful, as of an hundred persons and part of our troop unprepared to receive 
more (which lay without shift most slut- them, (for you must understand they 
tishly, and were every day almost melted 50 viewed all round about), they were thus 
with heat in rowing and marching, and driven to give us leave to proceed to- 
suddenly wet again with great showers, wards the two gates of the town, which 
and did eat of all sorts of corrupt fruits, were the next to the seaward. They had 
and made meals of fresh fish without manned them both, and planted their ord- 
seasoning, of tortugas, of lagartos or croc- 55 nance for that present and sudden alarm 
odiles, and of all sorts good and bad, with- without the gate, and also some troops of 
out either order or measure, and besides small shot in ambuscade upon the highway 
lodged in the open air every night) we side. We divided our whole force, being 



DRAKE IN CALIFORNIA lOl 

some thousand or twelve hundred men, into our hands; who without all order or 
into two parts, to enterprise both the gates reason, and contrary to that good usage 
at one instant, the lieutenant general hav- wherewith we had entertained their mes- 
ing openly vowed to Captain Powel (who sengers, furiously struck the poor boy 
led the troop that entered the other gate) 5 through the body with one of their horse- 
that with God's good favor he would not men's staves; with which wound the boy 
rest until our meeting in the market place, returned to the general, and after he had 
Their ordnance had no sooner dis- declared the manner of this wrongful 
charged upon our near approach and cruelty, died forthwith in his presence, 
made some execution amongst us, though 10 Wherewith the general being greatly pas- 
not much, but the lieutenant general be- sioned, commanded the provost martial, to 
gan forthwith to advance both his voice cause a couple of friars, then prisoners, 
of encouragement, and pace of marching, to be carried to the same place where the 
the first man that was slain with the ord- boy was struck, accompanied with suffi- 
nance being very near unto himself: and 15 cient guard of our soldiers, and there pres- 
thereupon hasted all that he might to keep ently to be hanged, dispatching at the 
them from the re-charging of the ord- same instant another poor prisoner, with 
nance. And notwithstanding their am- this reason wherefore this execution was 
buscades, we marched, or rather ran so done, and with this message further, that 
roundly into them, as pell mell we entered 20 until the party who had thus murdered 
the gates, and gave them more care every the general's messenger were delivered 
man to save himself by flight than reason into our hands, to receive condign punish- 
to stand any longer to their broken fight, ment, there should no day pass, wherein 
We forthwith repaired to the market there should not two prisoners be hanged, 
place : but to be more truly understood, a 25 until they were all consumed which were 
place of very fair spacious square ground, in our hands. 

whither also came, as had been agreed. Whereupon, the day following, he that 

Captain Powel with the other troop ; which had been captain of the king's galley, 
place with some part next unto it, we brought the offender to the town's end, of- 
strengthened with barricades, and there, 30 fering to deliver him into our hands; but 
as the most convenient place, assured our- it was thought to be a more honorable 
selves, the city being far too spacious for revenge to make them there in our sight 
so small and weary a troop to undertake to perform the execution themselves, 
to guard. Somewhat after midnight, they which was done accordingly, 
who had the guard of the castle, hearing 35 * * * 

us busy about the gates of the said castle, 
abandoned the same, some being taken 

prisoners, and some fleeing away by the DRAKE IN CALIFORNIA 

help of boats to the other side of the 
haven, and so into the country. 40 (From ' the famous voyage of Sir Fran- 

The next day we quartered a little more cis Drake into the South Sea, and there- 
at large, but not into the half part of the hence about the whole globe of the earth, 
town, and so making substantial trenches, begun in the year of our Lord, 1577.') 
and planting all the ordnance that each The fifth day of June, being in 43 de- 

part was correspondent to other, we held 45 grees towards the pole Arctic, we found 
this town the space of one month. the air so cold that our men, being griev- 

In the which time happened some acci- ously pinched with the same, complained 
dents, more than are well remembered for of the extremity thereof; and the further 
the present, but amongst other things, we went, the more the cold increased upon 
it chanced that the general sent on his 50 us. Whereupon we thought it best for 
message to the Spaniards a negro boy with that time to seek the land, and did so, 
a flag of white, signifying truce, as is the finding it not mountainous, but low plain 
Spaniards' ordinary manner to do there, land, till we came within 38 degrees to- 
when they approach to speak to us. wards the Line. In which height it 
Which boy unhappily was first met withal 55 pleased God to send us into a fair and 
by some of those who had been belonging good bay, with a good wind to enter the 
as officers for the king in the Spanish gal- same. 
ley, which with the town was lately fallen In this bay we anchored, and the people 



I02 HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 



of the country, having their houses close and amongst them the king himself, a man 
by the water's side, showed themselves of goodly stature and comely personage, 
unto us, and sent a present to our gen- with many other tall and warlike men; be- 
eral. fore whose coming were sent two ambas- 

When they came unto us, they greatly 5 sadors to our general to signify that their 
wondered at the things that we brought, king was coming, in doing of which mes- 
but our general (according to his natural sage their speech was continued about 
and accustomed humanity) courteously half an hour. This ended, they by signs 
entreated them, and liberally bestowed on requested our general to send some thing 
them necessary things to cover their 10 by their hand to their king as a token that 
nakedness, whereupon they supposed us his coming might be in peace, wherein our 
to be gods, and would not be persuaded to general having satisfied them, they re- 
the contrary. The presents which they turned with glad tidings to their king, who 
sent to our general were feathers and marched to us with a princely majesty, 
cauls of network. '5 the people crying continually after their 

Their houses are digged round about manner; and as they drew near unto us, 
with earth, and have from the uttermost so did they strive to behave themselves 
•brims of the circle clifts of wood set upon in their actions with comeHness. 
them, joining close together at the top In the fore- front was a man of goodly 

like a spire steeple, which by reason of 20 personage, who bore the scepter or mace 
that closeness are very warm. before the king, whereupon hung two 

Their beds is the ground with, rushes crowns, a less and a bigger, with three 
strewed on it, and lying about the house, chains of a marvelous length. The 
have the fire in the midst. The men go crowns were made of knit work wrought 
naked, the women take bulrushes and ^5 artificially with feathers of divers colors ; 
comb them after the manner of hemp, the chains were made of a bony substance, 
and thereof make their loose garments, and few be the persons among them that 
which being knit about their middles, hang are admitted to wear them ; and of that 
down about their hips, having also about number also the persons are stinted, as 
their shoulders a skin of deer with the 30 some ten, some twelve, and so forth, 
hair upon it. These women are very obe- Next unto him which bare the scepter was 
dient and serviceable to their husbands. the king himself with his guard about his 

After they were departed from us, they person, clad with coney skins, and other 
came and visited us the second time and skins. After them followed the naked 
brought with them feathers and bags of 35 common sort of people, everyone having 
tobacco for presents. And when they his face painted, some with white, some 
came to the top of the hill (at the bottom with black, and other colors, and having 
whereof we had pitched our tents) they in their hands one thing or another for a 
stayed themselves, where one appointed present, not so much as their children, but 
for speaker wearied himself with making 40 they also brought their presents. 
a long oration, which done, they left their In the meantime our general gathered 

bows upon the hill, and came down with his men together and marched within his 
their presents. fenced place, making against their ap- 

In the meantime the women, remaining proaching a very warlike show. They be- 
on the hill, tormented themselves lamen- 45 ing trooped together in their order and a 
tably, tearing their flesh from their cheeks, general salutation being made, there was 
whereby we perceived that they were presently a general silence. Then he that 
about a sacrifice. In the meantime our bare the scepter before the king, being in- 
general with his company went to prayer formed by another, whom they assigned 
and to reading of the Scriptures, at which 50 to that office, with a manly and lofty 
exercise they were attentive, and seemed voice proclaimed that which the other 
greatly to be affected with it. But when spoke to him in secret, continuing half an 
they were come unto us, they restored hour; which ended, and a general amen, 
again unto us those things which before as it were, given, the king with the whole 
we bestowed upon them. 55 number of men and women (the chil- 

The news of our being there being dren excepted) came down without any 
spread through the country, the people weapon ; who descending to the foot of the 
that inhabited round about came down, hill, set themselves in order. 



DRAKE IN CALIFORNIA 103 



In coming towards our bulwarks and ointments, agreeing to the state of their 
tents, the scepter-bearer began a song, griefs, beseeching God to cure their dis- 
observing his measures in a dance, and eases. Every third day they brought 
that with a stately countenance ; whom the their sacrifices to us, until they under- 
king with his guard, and every degree of 5 stood our meaning that we had no pleas- 
persons, following, did in like manner ure in them. Yet they could not be long 
sing and dance, saving only the women, absent from us, but daily frequented our 
which danced and kept silence. The gen- company to the hour of our departure, 
eral permitted them to enter within our which departure seemed so grievous unto 
bulwark, where they continued their song 10 them that their joy was turned into sor- 
and dance a reasonable time. When they row. They entreated us that being ab- 
had satisfied themselves, they made signs sent we would remember them, and by 
to our general to sit down, to whom the stealth provided a sacrifice, which we mis- 
king and divers others made several ora- liked. 

tions, or rather supplications, that hers Our necessary business being ended, 
would take their province and kingdom our general with his company traveled up 
into his hand, and become their king, mak- into the country to their villages, where 
ing signs that they would resign unto him we found herds of deer by 1000 in a 
their right and title of the whole land, and company, being most large and fat of 
become his subjects. In which, to per- 20 body. 

suade us the better, the king and the We found the whole coimtry to be a 

rest with one consent and with great rev- warren of a strange kind of conies, their 
erence, joyfully singing a song, did set bodies in bigness as be the Barbary 
the crown upon his head, enriched his conies, their heads as the heads o£ ours, 
neck with all their chains, and offered 25 the feet of a want, and the tail of a rat, 
unto him many other things, honoring being of great length. Under her chin 
him by the name of Hioh, adding there- is on either side a bag, into the which she 
unto, as it seemed a sign of triumph, which gathereth her meat, when she hath filled 
thing our general thought not meet to re- her belly abroad. The people eat their 
ject, because he knew not what honor and 30 bodies and make great account of their 
profit it might be to our country. Where- skins, for their king's coat was made of 
fore in the name and to the use of her them. 

Majesty he took the scepter, crown, and Our general called this country Nova 

dignity of the said country into his hands, Albion, and that for two causes : the one 
wishing that the riches and treasure 35 in respect of the white banks and clifTs 
thereof might so conveniently be trans- which lie towards the sea ; and the other 
ported to the enriching of her kingdom because it might have some affinity with 
at home, as it aboundeth in the same. our country in name, which sometime 

The common sort of people leaving the was so called, 
king and his guard with our general, 40 There is no part of earth here to be 
scattered themselves together with their taken up, wherein there is not some prob- 
sacnfices among our people, taking a dili- able show of gold or silver, 
gent view of every person; and such as At our departure hence our general 
pleased their fancy, (which were the set up a monument of our being there, 
youngest) they, inclosing them about, 45 as also of her Majesty's right and title 
offered their sacrifices unto them with to the same, namely a plate, nailed upon 
lamentable weeping, scratching, and tear- a fair great post, whereupon was en- 
ing the flesh from their faces with their graven her Majesty's name, the day and 
nails, whereof issued abundance of blood, year of our arrival there, with the free 
But we used signs to them of disliking 50 giving up of the province and people into 
this, and stayed their hands from force, her Majesty's hands, together with her 
and directed them upwards to the living highness' picture and arms in a piece of 
God, whom only they ought to worship. six pence of current English money un- 
They showed unto us their wounds, and der the plate, whereunder was also writ- 
craved help of them at our hands, where- 55 ten the name of our general, 
upon we gave them lotions, plasters, and * * * 



EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599) 

Although Spenser's father was ' a gentleman by birth,' he seems to have lacked adequate 
resources for bringing up his son. In spite of insufficient means, however, Spenser received 
a thoroughly good education, first as a ' poor scholar ' in the Merchant Tailors' School in 
London, under Richard Mulcaster, and later, during seven years, as a sizar, or needy student, 
at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. At the university he gained not only a high standing in 
classical studies, but also the permanent friendship of Gabriel Harvey, Fellow of Pembroke, 
the Hobbinol of Spenser's pastoral 'verse. After leaving the university, in 1.5TG, Spenser 
seems to have retired for a year or so into the country, where, according to a persistent tradi- 
tion, he met the Rosalind of the Shepherd's Calendar. He began his active career as a private 
secretary, first, perhaps, to Sir Henry Sidney, in Ireland, certainly to Bishop Young of 
Rochester, in 1578, and finally to the Earl of Leicester, in 1579. In this last position he met 
Leicester's nephew. Sir Philip Sidney, and Sir Edward Dyer, with both of whom he formed 
an intimate literary and personal friendship. His friendship with Sidney, Spenser recorded 
in Astrophel: A Pastoral Elegy (1595). Under Leicester's roof was completed the Sheplierd's 
Calendar, published in 1579. The enthusiastic reception of the poem among men of letters 
promptly established Spenser as the chief of English poets then living. In 1'580, Spenser went 
to Ireland as secretary to the lord deputy, Arthur Grey, and, except for two visits to England, 
he remained in Ireland until a month before his death. In 1581, he became clerk of the 
faculties in the Court of Chancery, and in the succeeding years prospered sufficiently to acquire 
land and to buy the office of clerk of the council of Munster, in 1588, when, probably, he 
began to reside upon his new estate at Kilcolman Castle. In 1589, Sir Walter Raleigh 
visited Spenser, who showed him the first three books of the Faery Queen, and who departed 
with his eminent visitor during that same year for London, there to present his work to the 
queen and to publish it. If the poet expected reward in the form of a government office in 
London, he was disappointed, for in 1591, after obtaining a pension of fifty pounds, he returned 
home. Raleigh's visit and the sojourn in London are reflected in Colin Clout's Come Home 
Agaiti (1595). After his return to Ireland, Spenser seems to have worked assiduously upon 
the Faery Queen, for the second three books were completed before June 11, 1594, when he 
married Elizabeth Boyle, the inspiration of the Amorctti and of Epithalamion. In 1596, 
Spenser again visited London, to publish Books IV-VI of the Faery Queen, and, no doubt, to 
seek office, — once more unsuccessfully. To this London visit is assigned the writing of the 
Four Hymns, the Proihalamion, and the prose tract. View of the Present State of Ireland. 
In this last work the poet vigorously records his contempt for the Irish, a contempt that must 
have grown into bitter hatred when, in 1.598, Irish rebels burned Kilcolman Castle and drove 
Spenser and his family to Cork, After having prepared for the queen an account of the 
situation in Ireland, Spenser set out with dispatches for London, where he died, January 16, 
1599. 



From THE SHEPHEARDES 
CALENDAR 

FEBRUARIE 



^GLOGA 
CUDDIE. 

Cud. Ah for 
rage 



SECUNDA 
THENOT. 

pittie ! wil rancke winters 



These bitter blasts never ginne tasswage? 
The kene cold blowes through my beaten 

hyde, 
All as I were through the body gryde. 
My ragged rentes all shiver and shake, s 



As doen high towers in an earthquake: 
They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle 

ta'iles, 
Perke as peacock : but nowe it avales. 

The. Lewdly complainest thou, laesie 

ladde, 
Of winters wracke, for making thee sadde. 
Must not the world wend in his commun 

course, " 

From good to badd, and from badde to 

worse, 
From worse unto that is worst of all, 
And then returne to his former fall? 
Who will not suffer the stormy time, iS 



104 



THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDAR 



105 



Where will he live tyll the lusty prime? 
Selfe have I worne out thrise threttie 

yeares, 
Some in much joy, many in many teares ; 
Yet never complained of cold nor heate, 
Of sommers flanae, nor of winters threat; 20 
Ne ever was to fortune foeman, 
But gently tooke that ungently came : 
And ever my fiocke was my chiefe care; 
Winter or sommer they mought well fare. 
Cud. No marveile, Thenot, if thou can 

beare 25 

Cherefully the winters wrathfull cheare : 
For age and winter accord full nie, 
This chill, that cold, this crooked, that wrye ; 
And as the lowring wether lookes downe, 
So semest thou like Good Fryday to frowne. 
But my flo wring youth is foe to frost, 3i 
My shippe unwont in stormes to be tost. 
The. The soveraigne of seas he blames 

in vaine. 
That, once seabeate, will to sea againe. 
So loytring live you little heardgroomes, 3S 
Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes : 
And when the shining sunne laugheth once, 
You deemen the spring is come attonce. 
Tho gynne you, fond flyes, the cold to 

scorne. 
And crowing in pypes made of greene 

corne, 40 

You thinken to be lords of the yeare. 
But eft, when ye count you freed from 

feare. 
Comes the breme winter with chamfred 

browes, 
Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes, 
Drerily shooting his stormy darte, 45 

Which cruddles the blood, and pricks the 

harte. 
Then is your carelesse corage accoied, 
Your carefull beards with cold bene an- 

noied : 
Then paye you the price of your surquedrie. 
With weeping, and wayling, and misery. 50 
Cud. Ah, foolish old man ! I scorne thy 

skill. 
That wouldest me my springing youngth to 

spil. 
I deeme thy braine emperished bee 
Through rusty elde, that hath rotted thee : 
Or sicker thy head veray tottie is, 55 

So on thy corbe shoulder it leanes amisse. 
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp and topp, 
Als my budding braunch thou wouldest 

cropp : 
But were thy yeares greene, as now bene 

mj'ne, 
To other delights they would encline. 60 



Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of love, 

And hery with hymnes thy lasses glove : 

Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis prayse: 

But Phyllis is myne for many dayes : 

I wonne her with a grydle of gelt, 65 

Embost with buegle about the belt : 

Such an one shepeheards woulde make full 

faine, 
Such an one would make thee younge 

againe. 
The. Thou art a fon, of thy love to boste; 
All that is lent to love wyll be lost. 7° 

Cud. Seest howe brag yond bullocke 

beares. 
So shiirke, so smoothe, his pricked eares? 
His homes bene as broade as rainebowe 

bent, 
His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent. 
See howe he venteth into the wynd. 75 

Weenest of love is not his mynd? 
Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can, 
So lustlesse bene they, so weake, so wan. 
Clothed with cold, and hoary wyth frost. 
Thy flocks father his corage hath lost : 80 
Thy ewes, that wont to have blowen bags. 
Like wailefuU widdowes hangen their crags : 
The rather lambes bene starved with cold. 
All for their maister is lustlesse and old. 

The. Cuddie, I wote thou kenst little good. 
So vainely tadvaunce thy headlessehood. 86 
For youngth is a bubble blown up with 

breath, 
Whose witt is weakenesse, whose wage is 

death, 
Whose way is wildernesse, whose ynne 

penaunce. 
And stoopegallaunt age, the hoste of gree- 

vaunce. 90 

But shall I tel thee a tale of truth. 
Which I cond of Tityrus in my youth. 
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent? 
Cud. To nought more, Thenot, my mind 

is bent, 
Then to heare novells of his devise: 95 

They bene so well thewed, and so wise. 
What ever that good old man bespake. 
The. Many meete tales of youth did he 

make, 
And some of love, and some of chevalrie : 
But none fitter then this to applie. 100 

Now listen a while, and hearken the end. 

There grewe an aged tree on the greene, 
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene. 
With armes full strong and largely dis- 

playd. 
But of their leaves they were disarayde: los 
The bodie bigge, and mightely pight, 
Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight: 



io6 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Whilome had bene the king of the field, 
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde, 
And with his nuts larded many swine. no 
But now the gray mosse marred his rine, 
His bared boughs were beaten with 

stormes, 
His toppe was bald, and wasted with 

wormes. 
His honor decayed, Ws braunches sere. "4 
Hard by his side grewe a bragging Brere, 
Which proudly thrust into thelement, 
And seemed to threat the firmament. 
Yt was embellisht with blossomes fayre, 
And thereto aye wonned to repayre "9 

The shepheards daughters, to gather flt'wres, 
To peinct their girlonds with his colowres : 
And in his small bushes used to shrowde 
The sweete nightingale singing so lowde: 
Which made this foolish Brere wexe so 

bold, 
That on a time he cast him to scold i^S 

And snebbe the good Oake, for he was old. 
' Why standst there,' quoth he, ' thou 

brutish blocke ? 
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy 

stocke. 
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde. 
Dyed in lilly white and cremsin redde, 130 
With leaves engrained in lusty greene 
Colours meete to clothe a mayden queene? 
Thy wast bignes but combers the grownd. 
And dirks the beauty of my blossomes 

round. 
The mouldie mosse, which thee accloieth. 
My sinamon smell too much annoieth. 136 
Wherefore soone, I rede thee, hence remove, 
Least thou the price of my displeasure 

prove.' 
So spake this bold Brere with great dis- 

daine : 
Little him answered the Oake againe, uo 
But yielded, with shame and greefe adawed. 
That of a weede he was overawed. 

Yt chaunced after upon a day, 
The husbandman selfe to come that way, 
Of custome for to survewe his grownd, '45 
And his trees of state in compasse rownd. 
Him when the spiteful! Brere had espyed, 
Causlesse complained, and lowdly cryed 
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife : 

* O my liege Lord, the god of my life, 150 
Pleaseth you ponder your suppliants plaint. 
Caused of wrong, and cruell constraint. 
Which I your poore vassall dayly endure : 
And but your goodnes the same recure, 
Am like for desperate doole to dye, '55 

Through felonous force of mine enemie.' 
Greatly aghast with this piteous plea, 



Him rested the goodman on the lea, 

And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede. 

With painted words tho gan this proude 

weede ^^° 

(As most usen ambitious folke) 
His colowred crime with craft to cloke. 

' Ah my soveraigne, lord of creatures all. 
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall. 
Was not I planted of thine owne hand, 1^5 
To be the primrose of all thy land, 
With flowring blossomes to furnish the 

prime, 
And scarlot berries in sommer time? 
How falls it then, that this faded Oake, 
Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches 

broke, 170 

Whose naked armes stretch unto the fyre, 
Unto such tyrannic doth aspire ; 
Hindering with his shade my lovely light, 
And robbing me of the swete sonnes sight? 
So beate his old boughes my tender side, '75 
That oft the bloud springeth from wounds 

wyde : 
Untimely my flowres forced to fall. 
That bene the honor of your coronall. 
And oft he lets his cancker wormes light 
Upon my braunches, to worke me more 

spight: iS° 

And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast. 
Where with my fresh flowretts bene defast. 
For this, and many more such outrage. 
Craving your goodlihead to aswage 
The ranckorous rigour of his might, 185 
Nought aske I, but onely to hold my right; 
Submitting me to your good sufferance, 
And praying to be garded from greevance.' 

To this the Oake cast him to replie 
Well as he couth : but his enemie 190 

Had kindled such coles of displeasure. 
That the good man noulde stay his leasure, 
But home him hasted with furious heate, 
Encreasing his wrath with many a threate. 
His harmefull hatchet he hent in hand, i9S 
(Alas, that it so ready should stand!) 
And to the field alone he speedeth, 
(Ay little helpe to harme there needeth.) 
Anger nould let him speake to the tree, 
Enaunter his rage mought cooled bee; 200 
But to the roote bent his sturdy stroke. 
And made many wounds in the wast Oake. 
The axes edge did oft turne againe, 
As halfe unwilling to cutte the graine : 
Semed, the sencelesse yron dyd feare, 205 
Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare. 
For it had bene an auncient tree, 
Sacred with many a mysteree, 
And often crost with the priestes crewe, 
And often halowed with holy water dewe. 



THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDAR 



107 



But sike fancies weren foolerie, 211 

And broughten this Oake to this miserye. 
For nought mought they quitten him from 

decay : 
For fiercely the goodman at him did laye. 
The blocke oft groned under the blow, 215 
And sighed to see his neare overthrow. 
In fine, the Steele had pierced his pitth : 
Tho downe to the earth he fell forthwith : 
His wonderous weight made the grounde to 

quake, 
Thearth shronke under him, and seemed to 

shake. 220 

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none. 

Now stands the Brere like a lord alone, 
Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleasaunce : 
But all this glee had no continuaunce. 
For eftsones winter gan to approche, 225 
The blustring Boreas did encroche, 
And beate upon the solitarie Brere : 
For nowe no succoure was scene him nere. 
Now gan he repent his pryde to late : 
For naked left and disconsolate, 230 

The byting frost nipt his stalke dead. 
The watrie wette weighed downe his head. 
And heaped snowe burdned him so sore. 
That nowe upright he can stand no more : 
And being downe, is trodde in the durt 235 
Of cattell, and bronzed, and sorely hurt. 
Such was thend of this ambitious Brere, 
For scorning eld — 
Cud. Now I pray thee, shepheard, tel it 

not forth : 
Here is a long tale, and little worth. 240 

So longe have I listened to thy speche, 
That graffed to the ground is my breche : 
My hartblood is welnigh frorne, I feele, 
And my galage growne fast to my heele : 
But little ease of thy lewd tale I tasted. 245 
Hye thee home, shepheard, the day is nigh 

wasted. 

THENOTS EMBLEME. 

Iddio, perche e vecchio. 
Fa suoi al suo essempio. 

CUDDIES EMBLEME. 

Niuno vecchio 
Spaventa Iddio. 



OCTOBER 

^GLOGA DECIMA 
PIERCE. CUDDIE. 

Piers. Cuddie, for shame ! hold up thy 
heavye head, 
And let us cast with what delight to chace 
And weary thys long lingring Phoebus race. 



Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes 

to leade 
In rymes, in ridles, and in bydding base: 3 
Now they in thee, and thou in sleepe art 

dead. 

Cud. Piers, I have pyped erst so long with 

payne, 
That all mine oten reedes bene rent and 

wore: 
And my poore Muse hath spent her spared 

store. 
Yet little good hath got, and much lesse 

gayne. ^o 

Such pleasaunce makes the grashopper so 

poore, 
And ligge so layd, when winter doth her 

straine. 

The dapper ditties that I wont devise. 

To feede youthes fancie and the flocking 

fry, 

Delighten much: what I the bett forthy? i3 
They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise: 
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe flye: 
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise? 
Piers. Cuddie, the prayse is better then 
the price. 
The glory eke much greater then the gayne: 
O what an honor is it, to restraine 21 

The lust of lawlesse youth with good ad- 
vice. 
Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of 

thy vaine, 
Whereto thou list their trayned willes en- 
tice! 

Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in 

frame, 25 

O how the rurall routes to thee doe cleave! 
Seemeth thou doest their soule of sense 

bereave. 
All as the shepheard, that did fetch his dame 
From Plutoes balefull bowre withouten 

leave : 
His musicks might the hellish hound did 

tame. 3° 

Cud. So praysen babes the peacoks spotted 

traine. 
And wondren at bright Argus blazing eye ; 
But who rewards him ere the more forthy? 
Or f cedes him once the fuller by a graine? 
Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth in the 

skye, 35 

Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone in 

vayne. 



io8 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Piers. Abandon then the base and viler 
clowne : 
Lyft up thy selfe out of the lowly dust, 
And sing of bloody Mars, of wars, of giusts : 
Turne thee to those that weld the awful 
crowne, 4° 

To doubted knights, whose woundlesse ar- 
mour rusts. 
And helmes unbruzed wexen dayly browne. 

There may thy Muse display her fiuttryng 

wing. 
And stretch her selfe at large from east to 

west: 
Whither thou list in fayre Elisa rest, 45 
Or if thee please in bigger notes to sing, 
Advaunce the worthy whome shee loveth 

best, 
That first the white beare to the stake did 

bring. 

And when the stubborne stroke of stronger 

stounds 
Has somewhat slackt the tenor of thy 

string, so 

Of love and lustihead tho mayst thou sing, 
And carrol lowde, and leade the myllers 

rownde, 
All were Elisa one of thilke same ring. 
So mought our Cuddies name to heaven 

sownde. 

Cud. Indeede the Romish Tityrus, I 

heare, ss 

Through his Mecoenas left his oaten reede. 
Whereon he earst had taught his flocks to 

feede, 
And laboured lands to yield the timely eare. 
And eft did sing of warres and deadly 

drede, 
So as the heavens did quake his verse to 

here. 6° 

But ah ! Meccenas is yclad in claye, 
And great Augustus long ygoe is dead, 
And all the worthies liggen wrapt in leade, 
That matter made for poets on to play: 
For, ever, who in derring doe were dreade, 
The loftie verse of hem was loved aye. 66 

But after vertue gan for age to stoupe, 
And mighty manhode brought a bedde of 

ease. 
The vaunting poets found nought worth a 

pease 
To put in preace emong the learned troiipe. 
Tho gan the streames of flowing wittes to 

cease, 7i 

And sonnebright honour pend in shamefull 

coupe. 



And if that any buddes of poesie 
Yet of the old stocke gan to shoote agayne, 
Or it mens follies mote be forst to fayne, 75 
And rolle with rest in rymes of rybaudrye, 
Or, as it sprong, it wither must agayne : 
Tom Piper makes us better melodie. 

Piers. O pierlesse Poesye, where is then 

thy place? 
If nor in princes pallace thou doe sift, 80 
(And yet is princes pallace the most fitt) 
Ne brest of baser birth doth thee embrace. 
Then make thee winges of thine aspyring 

wit, 
And, whence thou camst, flye backe to 

heaven apace. 

Cud. Ah, Percy! it is all to weake and 

wanne, 85 

So high to sore, and make so large a flight; 

Her peeced pyneons bene not so in plight: 

For Colin fittes such famous flight to 

scanne: 
He, were he not with love so ill bedight, 
Would mount as high and sing as soote as 
swanne. 90 

Piers. Ah, f on ! for love does teach him 

climbe so hie, 
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome 

myre: 
Such immortall mirrhor as he doth admire 
Would rayse ones mynd above the starry 

skie. 
And cause a caytive corage to aspire ; 95 
For lofty love doth loath a lowly eye. 

C^id. All otherwise the state of poet 
stands : 
For lordly Love is such a tyranne fell. 
That, where he rules, all power he doth ex- 
pell. 
The vaunted verse a vacant head demaundes, 
Ne wont with crabbed Care the Muses 
dwell: loi 

Unwisely weaves, that takes two webbes in 
hand. 

Who ever casts to compasse weightye prise. 
And thinks to throwe out thondring words 

of threate. 
Let powre in lavish cups and thriftie bitts 

of meate ; i°s 

For Bacchus fruite is frend to Phoebus wise. 
And when with wine the braine begins to 

sweate, 
The nombers flowe as fast as spring doth 

ryse. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



109 



Thou ken St not, Percie, howe the ryme 

should rage. 
O if my temples were distaind with wine, 
And girt in girlonds of wild yvie twine, m 
How I could reare the Muse on stately 

stage, 
And teache her tread aloft in buskin fine, 
With queint Bellona in her equipage ! 

But ah ! my corage cooles ere it be warme ; 
Forthy content us in thys humble shade, "S 
Where no such troublous tydes han us 

assayde. 
Here we our slender pipes may safely 

charme. 
Piers. And when my gates shall han their 

bellies layd, 
Cuddie shall have a kidde to store his 

farme. 

CUDDIES EMBLEME. 

Agitante calescimus illo, &c. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 

THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENE, 
CONTAYNING THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT 
OF THE RED CROSSE OR OF HOLINESSE 



Lo ! I the man, whose muse whylome did 

maske, 
As time her taught, in lowly shephards 

weeds. 
Am now enforst, a farre unfitter taske. 
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine oaten 

reeds. 
And sing of knights and ladies gentle 
deeds; s 

Whose praises having slept in silence long. 
Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds 
To blazon broade emongst her learned 

throng : 
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall mor- 
alize my song. 9 



Helpe then, O holy virgin, chiefe of nyne. 
Thy weaker novice to performe thy will ; 
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne 
The antique rolles, which there lye hidden 

still, 
Of Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill, 
Whom that most noble Briton Prince so 

long IS 

Sought through the world, and suffered so 

much ill, 



That I must rue his undeserved wrong : 
O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen 
my dull tong. 

Ill 

And thou, most dreaded impe of highest 

Jove, 
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell 

dart ^o 

At that good knight so cunningly didst 

rove. 
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart. 
Lay now thy deadly heben bowe apart. 
And with thy mother mylde come to mine 

ayde: 
Come both, and with you bring triumphant 

Mart, 25 

In loves and gentle jollities arraid. 
After his murdrous spoyles and bloudie rage 

allayd. 

IV 

And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly 

bright, 
Mirrour of grace and majestic divine. 
Great Ladie of the greatest Isle, whose 

light 30 

Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world 

doth shine. 
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne, 
And raise my thoughtes, too humble and 

too vile. 
To thinke of that true glorious type of 

thine. 
The argument of mine afflicted stile: 35 
The which to heare vouchsafe, O dearest 

dread, a while. 



CANTO I 

The patrone of true Holinesse 
Foule Errour doth defeate: 

Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, 
Doth to his home entreate. 



A gentle knight was pricking on the 

plaine, 
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde. 
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did 

remaine. 
The cruell markes of many a bloody fielde; 
Yet armes till that time did he never wield: 
His angry steede did chide his foming 

bitt, . 6 

As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : 
Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did 

sitt, 



no 



EDMUND SPENSER 



As one for knightly giusts and fierce en- 
counters fitt. 



But on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, ^° 
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge 

he wore. 
And dead as living ever him ador'd: 
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, 
For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he 

had: ^s 

Right faithfull true he was in deede and 

word. 
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne 

sad; 
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was 

ydrad. 



Upon a great adventure he was bond. 
That greatest Gloriana to him gave, 20 

That greatest glorious queene of Faery 

Lond, 
To winne him worshippe, and her grace to 

have. 
Which of all earthly thinges he most did 

crave ; 
And ever as he rode his hart did earne 
To prove his puissance in battell brave 25 
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne ; 
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stearne. 



IV 

A lovely ladie rode him faire beside, 
Upon a lowly asse more white then snow, 
Yet she much whiter, but the same did 

hide 30 

Under a vele, that wimpled was full low. 
And over all a blacke stole shee did throw: 
As one that inly mournd, so was she sad. 
And heavie sate upon her palfrey slow: 
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had ; 
And by her in a line a milkewhite lambe 

she lad. , 36 



So pure and innocent, as that same lambe. 
She was in life and every vertuous lore. 
And by descent from royall lynage came 
Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of 
yore 4° 

Their scepters stretcht from east to west- 
erne shore. 
And all the world in their subjection held, 
Till that infernall feend with foule uprore 



Forwasted all their land, and them expeld: 

Whom to avenge, she had this knight from 

far compeld. 45 

VI 

Behind her farre away a dwarfe did lag, 

That lasie seemd, in being ever last, 

Or wearied with bearing of her bag 

Of needments at his backe. Thus as they 

past, 
The day with cloudes was suddeine over- 
cast, so 
And angry Jove an hideous storme of raine 
Did poure into his lemans lap so fast. 
That everie wight to shrowd it did con- 
strain, 
And this faire couple eke to shroud them- 
selves were fain. 



VII 

Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, 
A shadie grove not farr away they spide, s6 
That promist ayde the tempest to withstand: 
Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers 

pride, 
Did spred so broad, that heavens light did 

hide. 
Not perceable with power of any starr; 60 
And all within were pathes and alleies wide. 
With footing worne, and leading inward 

farr: 
Faire harbour that them seemes, so in they 

entred ar. 

VIII 

And foorth they passe, with pleasure for- 
ward led, 
Joying to heare the birdes sweete har- 
mony, ^s 
Which, therein shrouded from the tempest 

dred, 
Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell 

sky. 
Much can they praise the trees so straight 

and hy, 
The sayling pine, the cedar proud and tall. 
The vine-propp elme, the poplar never dry, 
The builder oake, sole king of forrests all, 
The aspine good for staves, the cypresse 
funerall, 72 



The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours 
And poets sage, the firre that weepeth still, 
The willow worne of forlorne paramours. 
The eugh obedient to the benders will, 76 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



III 



The birch for shaftes, the sallow for the 

mill, 
The mirrhe sweete bleeding in the bitter 

wound, 
The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, 
The fruitfuU olive, and the platane round, 80 
The carver holme, the maple seeldom in- 
ward sound. 



Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, 
Untill the blustring storme is overblowne ; 
When, weening to returne whence they did 

stray, 
They cannot finde that path, which first was 

showne, 85 

But wander too and fro in waies unknowne, 
Furthest from end then, when they neerest 

weene. 
That makes them doubt, their wits be not 

their owne : 
So many pathes, so many turnings scene. 
That which of them to take, in diverse 

doubt they been. 90 



At last resolving forward still to fare. 
Till that some end they finde, or in or out. 
That path they take, that beaten seemd most 

bare. 
And like to lead the labyrinth about ; 
Which when by tract they hunted had 

throughout, 95 

At length it brought them to a hollowe 

cave, 
Amid the thickest woods. The champion 

stout 
Eftsoones dismounted from his courser 

brave. 
And to the dwarfe a while his needlesse 

spere he gave. 



' Be well aware,' quoth then that ladie milde, 
' Least suddaine mischiefe ye too rash pro- 
voke : loi 
The danger hid, the place unknowne and 

wilde, 
Breedes dreadful! doubts: oft fire is with- 
out smoke, 
And perill without show: therefore your 

stroke. 
Sir knight, with-hold, till further tryall 
made.' 105 

' Ah, ladie,' sayd he, ' shame were to revoke 
The forward footing for an hidden shade : 
Vertue gives her selfe light, through darke- 
nesse for to wade.' 



' Yea, but,' quoth she, ' the perill of this 

place 
I better wot then you; though nowe too 

late 110 

To wish you backe returne with foule dis- 
grace. 
Yet wisedome warnes, whitest foot is in the 

gate, 
To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. 
This is the wandring wood, this Errours 

den, 
A monster vile, whom God and man does 

hate: "S 

Therefore I read beware.' 'Fly, fly!' quoth 

then 
The fearefull dwarfe: 'this is no place for 

living men.' 

XIY 

But full of fire-and greedy hardiment. 

The youthful! knight could not for ought 

be staide. 
But forth unto the darksom hole he went, 120 
And looked in : his glistring armor made 
A litle glooming light, much like a shade. 
By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, 
Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, 
But th' other lialfe did womans shape re- 

taine, 125 

Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile 

disdaine. 



And as she lay upon the durtie ground. 
Her huge long taile her den all overspred, 
Yet was in knots and many boughtes up- 
wound. 
Pointed with mortal! sting. Of her there 
bred 130 

A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed, 
Sucking upon her poisnous dugs, eachone 
Of sundrie shapes, yet all ill favored: 
Soone as that uncouth light upon them 

shone. 
Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all 
were gone. i3S 



Their dam upstart, out of her den effraide, 
And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile 
About her cursed head, whose folds dis- 

plaid 
Were stretcht now forth at length without 

entraile. 
She lookt about, and seeing one in mayle 



112 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Armed to point, sought backe to turne 
againe; ^4i 

For light she hated as the deadly bale, 
Ay wont in desert darknes to remaine, 
Where plain none might her see, nor she 
see any plaine. 

XVII 

Which when the valiant elfe perceiv'd, he 
lept '45 

As lyon fierce upon the flying pray, 
And with his trenchand blade her boldly 

kept 
From turning backe, and forced her to stay : 
Therewith enrag'd she loudly gan to bray, 
And turning fierce, her speckled taile ad- 
vauhst, '50 

Threatning her angrie sting, him to dis- 
may: 
Who, nought aghast, his mightie hand en- 

haunst : 
The stroke down from her head unto her 
shoulder glaunst. 

XVIII 

Much daunted with that dint, her sence was 

dazed, 
Yet kindling rage her selfe she gathered 

round, 'SS 

And all attonce her beastly bodie raizd 
With doubled forces high above the ground : 
Tho, wrapping up her wrethed sterne 

arownd, 
Lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge 

traine 
All suddenly about his body wound, i6o 

That hand or foot to stirr he strove in 

vaine: 
God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours 

endlesse traine. 

XIX 

His lady, sad to see his sore constraint, 
Cride out, ' Now, now, sir knight, shew 

what ye bee ; 
Add faith unto your force, and be not 

faint : '^s 

Strangle her, els she sure will strangle 

thee.' 
That when he heard, in great perplexitie. 
His gall did grate for griefe and high dis- 

daine; 
And knitting all his force, got one hand 

free, 
Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great 

paine, '7o 

That soone to loose her wicked bands did 

her constraine. 



Therewith she spewd out of her filthie maw 

A floud of poyson horrible and blacke. 

Full of great lumps of flesh and gobbets 

raw. 
Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him 

slacke i75 

His grasping hold, and from her turne him 

backe : 
Her vomit full of bookes and papers was. 
With loathy frogs and toades, which eyes 

did lacke. 
And creeping sought way in the weedy gras : 
Her filthie parbreake all the place defiled 

has. i8o 



As when old father Nilus gins to swell 
With timely pride above the Aegyptian vale, 
His fattie waves doe fertile slime outwell. 
And overflow each plaine and lowly dale : 
But when his later spring gins to avale, '85 
Huge heapes of mudd he leaves, wherin 

there breed 
Ten thousand kindes of creatures, partly 

male 
And partly femall, of his fruitful seed; 
Such ugly monstrous shapes elswher may 

no man reed. 



The same so sore annoyed has the knight, 190 
That, welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, 
His forces faile, ne can no lenger fight. 
-Whose corage when the feend perceivd to 

shrinke, 
She poured forth out of her hellish sinke 
Her fruitfuU cursed spawne of serpents 

small, I9S 

Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as 

inke, 
Which swarming all about his legs did crall, 
And him encombred sore, but could not 

hurt at all. 

XXIII 

As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide. 
When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west. 
High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, 201 
Markes which doe byte their hasty supper 

best ; 
A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him mo- 
lest. 
All striving to infixe their feeble stinges. 
That from their noyance he no where can 
rtsv, 2of 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



113 



But with his clownish hands their tender 

wings 
He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their 

murmurings. 

XXIV 

Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of 

shame 
Then of the certeine perill he stood in, 
Halfe furious unto his foe he came, 210 

Resolvd in minde all suddenly to win, 
Or soone to lose, before he once would lin; 
And stroke at her with more then manly 

force. 
That from her body, full of filthie sin, 
He raft her hatefull heade without re- 
morse: 2'S 
A streame of cole black blood forth gushed 
from her corse. 

XXV 

Her scattred brood, soone as their parent 

deare 
They saw so rudely falling to the ground, 
Groning full deadly, all with troublous 

feare, 
Gathred themselves about her body round, 
Weening their wonted entrance to have 
found 221 

At her wide mouth: but being there with- 
stood, 
They flocked all about her bleeding wound. 
And sucked up their dying mothers bloud. 
Making her death their life, and eke her 
hurt their good. 225 

XXVI 

That detestable sight him much amazde. 
To see th' unkindly impes, of heaven ac- 
curst, 
Devoure their dam; on whom while so he 

gazd. 
Having all satisfide their bloudy thurst. 
Their bellies swolne he saw with fulnesse 
burst, 230 

And bowels gushing forth ; well worthy end 
Of such as drunke her life, the which them 

nurst ! 
Now needeth him no lenger labour spend; 
His foes have slaine themselves, with whom 
he should contend. 

xxvn 

His lady, seeing all that chaunst, from 
farre, 23s 

Approcht in hast to greet his viclorie, 



And saide, ' Faire knight, borne under hap- 

pie starre, 
Who see your vanquisht foes before you 

lye. 
Well worthie be you of that armory, 
Wherein ye have great glory wonne this 

day, 240 

And proov'd your strength on a strong eni- 

mie. 
Your first adventure : many such I pray. 
And henceforth ever wish that like succeed 

it may.' 

XXVIII 

Then mounted he upon his steede againe, 
And with the lady backward sought to 

wend ; 24s 

That path he kept which beaten was most 

plaine, 
Ne ever would to any by way bend. 
But still did follow one unto the end, 
The which at last out of the wood them 

brought. 249 

So forward on his way (with God to frend) 
He passed forth, and new adventure sought : 
Long way he travelled, before he heard of 

ought. 

XXIX 

At length they chaunst to meet upon the 

way 
An aged sire, in long blacke weedes yclad. 
His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie 

gray, 255 

And by his belte his booke he hanging had; 
Sober he seemde, and very sagely sad. 
And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, 
Simple in shew, and voide of malice bad. 
And all the way he prayed as he went, 260 
And often knockt his brest, as one that did 

repent. 

XXX 

He faire the knight saluted, louting low. 
Who faire him quited, as that courteous 

was ; 
And after asked him, if he did know 
Of straunge adventures, which abroad did 

pas. 26s 

' Ah ! my dear sonne,' quoth he, ' how should, 

alas ! 
Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell, 
Bidding his beades all day for his trespas, 
Tydings of warre and worldly trouble tell? 
With holy father sits not with such thinges 

to mell. «7o 



114 



EDMUND SPENSER 



' But if of daunger, which hereby doth dwell, 
And homebredd evil ye desire to heare, 
Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell, 
That wasteth all his countrie f arre and 

neare.' 
'Of such,' saide he, 'I chiefly doe inquere, 
And shall you well rewarde to shew the 

place, 276 

In which that wicked wight his dayes doth 

weare : 
For to all knighthood it is foule disgrace, 
That such a cursed creature lives so long a 

space.* 



' Far hence,' quoth he, ' in wastfuU wilder- 

nesse, ^^° 

His dwelling is, by which no living wight 
May ever passe, but thorough great dis- 

tresse/ 
'Now,' saide the ladie, 'draweth toward 

night, 
And well I wote, that of your later fight 
Ye all forwearied be : for what so strong, 285 
But, wanting rest, will also want of might? 
The Sunne, that measures heaven all day 

long. 
At night doth baite his steedes the ocean 

waves emong. 

XXXIII 

'Then with the Sunne take, sir, your timely 

rest, 
And with new day new worke at once be- 
gin : * 290 
Untroubled night, they say, gives counsell 

best.' 
' Right well, sir knight, ye have advised 

bin,' 
Quoth then that aged man; 'the way to 

win 
Is wisely to advise : now day is spent ; 
Therefore with me ye may take up your 

in 295 

For this same night.' The knight was well 

content : 
So with that godly father 'o his home they 

went. 



A litle lowly hermitage it was, 
Downe in a dale, hard by a forests side, 
Far from resort of people, that did pas 3oo 
In traveill to and froe : a litle wyde 
There was an holy chappell edifyde. 



Wherein the hermite dewly wont to say 
His holy thinges each morne and even-tyde : 
Thereby a christall streame did gently play. 
Which from a sacred fountaine welled 
forth alway. 306 

XXXV 

Arrived there, the little house they fill, 
Ne looke for entertainement, where none 

was : 
Rest is their feast, and all thinges at their 

will ; 
The noblest mind the best contentment 

has. 310 

With faire discourse the evening so they 

pas: 
For that olde man of pleasing wordes had 

store, 
And well could file his tongue as smooth 

as glas : 
He told of saintes and popes, and ever- 
more 314 
He strowd an Ave-Mary after and before. 

XXXVI 

The drouping night thus creepeth on them 

fast. 
And the sad humor loading their eye liddes. 
As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast 
Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep 

them biddes : 
Unto their lodgings then his guestes he 

riddes : 320 

Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe 

he findes, 
He to his studie goes, and there amiddes 
His magick bookes and artes of sundrie 

kindes. 
He seekes out mighty charmes, to trouble 

sleepy minds. 



Then choosing out few words most horri- 
ble, 32s 
(Let none them read) thereof did verses 

frame ; 
With which and other spelles like terrible, 
He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame, 
And cursed heven, and spake reproachful 
shame 329 

Of highest God, the Lord of life and light: 
A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name 
Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead 

night, 
At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put 
to flight. 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



115 



XXXVIII 

And forth he cald out of deepe darknes 

dredd 
Legions of sprights, the which, like litle 

flyes 335 

Fluttring about his ever damned hedd, 
Awaite whereto their service he applyes, 
To aide his f riendes, or fray his enimies : 
Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, 
And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes ; 
The one of them he gave a message too, 341 
The other by him selfe staide, other worke 

to doo. 



He, making speedy way through spersed 

ayre. 
And through the world of waters wide and 

deepe. 
To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. 345 
Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, 
And low, where dawning day doth never 

peepe, 
His dwelling is ; there Tethys his wet bed 
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth 

steepe 
In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, 3So 
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black 

doth spred. 



Whose double gates he findeth locked fast, 
The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory. 
The other all with silver overcast ; 
And wakeful dogges before them farre doe 

lye, 355 

Watching to banish Care their enimy, 
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. 
By them the sprite doth passe in quietly, 
And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned 

deepe 
In drowsie fit he findes: of nothing he 

takes keepe. 360 

XLI 

And more, to lulle him in his slumber soft, 
A trickling streame from high rock tum- 
bling downe. 
And ever drizling raine upon the loft, 
Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like 

the sowne 
Of swarming bees, did cast him in a 

swowne : 
No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes. 
As still are wont t'annoy the walled towne. 
Might there be heard: but carelesse Quiet 
lyes. 



Wrapt in eternall silence farre from eni- 
myes. 

XLII 

The messenger approching to him spake, 370 
But his waste wordes retourned to him in 

vaine : 
So sound he slept, that nought mought him 

awake. 
Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with 

paine. 
Whereat he gan to stretch: but he againe 
Shooke him so hard, that forced him to 

speake. 37s 

As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine 
Is tost with troubled sights and fancies 

weake, 
He mumbled soft, but would not all his 

silence breake. 

XLIII 

The sprite then gan more boldly him to 

wake. 
And threatened unto him the dreaded name 
Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake, 381 

And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame 
Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. 
' Hether,' quoth he, ' me Archimago sent, 
He that the stubborne sprites can wisely 

tame ; 38s 

He bids thee to him send for his intent 
A fit false dreame, that can delude the 

sleepers sent.' 

XLIV 

The god obayde, and calling forth straight 

way 
A diverse dreame out of his prison darke, 
Delivered it to him, and downe did lay 390 
His heavie head, devoide of careful carke; 
Whose sences all were straight benumbd 

and Starke. 
He, backe returning by the yvorie dore. 
Remounted up as light as cheareful larke. 
And on his litle winges the dreame he bore 
In hast unto his lord, where he him left 

afore. 396 

XLV 

Who all this while, with charmes and hid- 
den artes, 
Had made a lady of that other spright, 
And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes, 
So lively and so like in all mens sight, 4oo 
That weaker sence it could have ravisht 

quight : 
The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt, 



ii6 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight: 
Her all in white he clad, and over it 
Cast a black stole, most like to seenie for 
Una fit. 40s 

XLVI 

Now when that ydle dreame was to him 

brought, 
Unto that Elfin knight he bad him fly, 
Where he slept soundly, void of evil thought. 
And with false shewes abuse his fantasy. 
In sort as he him schooled privily: 410 

And that new creature, borne without her 

dew, 
Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly 
He taught to imitate that lady trew. 
Whose semblance she did carrie under 

feigned hew. 

XLVII 

Thus well instructed, to their worke they 

haste, 415 

And comming where the knight in slom- 

ber lay. 
The one upon his bardie head him plaste, 
And made him dreame of loves and lust- 
full play, 
That nigh his manly hart did melt away. 
Bathed in wanton blis and wicked joy. 420 
Then seemed him his lady by him lay, 
And to him playnd, how that false winged 

boy 
Her chaste hart had subdewd to learne 
Dame Pleasures toy. 



And she her selfe, of beautie soveraigne 
queene, 424 

Fayre Venus, seemde unto his bed to bring 
Her, whom he, waking, evermore did weene 
To bee the chastest flowre that aye did 

spring 
On earthly braunch, the daughter of a king. 
Now a loose leman to vile service bound: 
And eke the Graces seemed all to sing 43° 
Hymen id Hymen, dauncing all around, 
Whylst freshest Flora her with yvie girlond 
crownd. 



In this great passion of unwonted lust, 
Or wonted feare of doing ought amis, 
He started up, as seeming to mistrust 435 
Some secret ill, or hidden foe of his : 
Lo ! there before his face his ladie is, 
Under blacke stole hyding her bayted hooke, 
And as halfe blushing ofifred him to kis, 
With gentle blandishment and lovely looke, 



Most like that virgin true, which for her 
knight him took. 441 



All cleane dismayd to see so uncouth sight, 
And halfe enraged at her shamelesse guise, 
He thought have slaine her in his fierce de- 

spight ; 
But hastie heat tempring with sufferance 
wise, 445 

He stayde his hand, and gan himselfe ad- 
vise 
To prove his sense, and tempt her faigned 

truth. 
Wringing her hands in wemens pitteous 

wise, 
Tho can she weepe, to stirre up gentle ruth, 
Both for her noble blood, and for her 
tender youth. 45° 

LI 

And sayd, * Ah sir, my liege lord and my 

love. 
Shall I accuse the hidden cruell fate. 
And mightie causes wrought in heaven 

above, 
Or the blind god, that doth me thus amate. 
For hoped love to winne me certaine hate? 
Yet thus perforce he bids me do, or die 456 
Die is my dew : yet rew my wretched state 
You, whom my hard avenging destinie 
Hath made judge of my life or death in- 
differently. 

LII 

' Your owne deare sake forst me at first to 
leave 460 

My fathers kingdom ' — There she stopt 
with teares ; 

Her swollen hart her speech seemed to be- 
reave ; 

And then againe begonne : ' My weaker 
yeares, 

Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly 
feares, 464 

Fly to your f ayth for succour and sure ayde : 

Let me not die in languor and long teares.' 

' Why, dame,' quoth he, ' what hath ye thus 
dismayd ? 

What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort 
me affrayd ? ' 



* Love of your selfe,' she saide, * and deare 

constraint. 

Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie 

night 47'' 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



117 



In secret anguish and unpittied plaint, 
Whiles you in careless sleepe are drowned 

quight.' 
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted 

knight 
Suspect her truth : yet since no' untruth he 

knew, 
Her fawning love with foule disdainefull 

spight 473 

He would not shend, but said, ' Deare dame, 

I rew, 
That for my sake unknowne such griefe 

unto you grew. 



'Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground; 

For all so deare as life is to my hart, 

I deeme your love, and hold me to you 
bound ; 480 

Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse 
smart. 

Where cause is none, but to your rest de- 
part.' 

Not all content, yet seemd she to appease 

Her mournfull plaintes, beguiled of her 
art, 

And fed with words, that could not chose 
but please ; 48s 

So slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her 
ease. 

LV 

Long after lay he musing at her mood. 
Much griev'd to thinke that gentle dame so 

light. 
For whose defence he was to shed his blood. 
At last dull wearines of former fight 490 
Having yrockt a sleepe his irkesome spright. 
That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse 

his braine 
With bowres, and beds, and ladies deare 

delight : 
But when he saw his labour all was vaine, 
With that misformed spright he backe re- 

turnd againe. 



CANTO H 



The guilefull great enchaunter parts 
The Redcrosse Knight from Truth: 

Into whose stead faire Falshood steps, 
And workes him woefull ruth. 



By this the northerne wagoner had set 
His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast 
starre, 



That was in ocean waves yet never wet. 
But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from 

farre 
To al that in the wide deepe wandring arre : 
And chearefull Chaunticlere with his note 

shrill 6 

Had warned once, that Phoebus fiery carre 
In hast was climbing up the easterne hill, 
Full envious that night so long his roome 

did fill : 



When those accursed messengers of hell, 10 
That feigning dreame, and that faire-forged 

spright, 
Came to their wicked maister, and gan tel 
Their bootelesse paines, and ill succeeding 

night : 
Who, all in rage to see his skilfull might 
Deluded so, gan threaten hellish paine i5 
And sad Proserpines wrath, them to af- 
fright. 
But when he saw his threatning was but 

vaine. 
He cast about, and searcht his baleful bokes 
againe. 



Eftsoones he tooke that miscreated faire, 
And that false other spright, on whom he 

spred 20 

A seeming body of the subtile aire. 
Like a young squire, in loves and lustyhed 
His wanton dales tha*^ ever loosely led. 
Without regard of armes and dreaded fight: 
Those twoo he tooke, and in a secrete bed, ^5 
Covered with darkenes and misdeeming 

night, 
Them both together laid, to joy in vaine 

delight. 



Forthwith he runnes with feigned faithful! 

hast 
Unto his guest, who, after troublous sights 
And dreames, gan now to take more sound 

repast ; 30 

Whom suddenly he wakes with fearful 

frights. 
As one aghast with feends or damned 

sprights, 
And to him cals: 'Rise, rise, unhappy 

swaine. 
That here wex old in sleepe, whiles wicked 

wights 
Have knit themselves in Venus shameful 

chaine; 3S 



ii8 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Come see, where your false lady doth her 
honor staine.' 



All in amaze he suddenly up start 

With sword in hand, and with the old man 

went ; 
Who soone him brought into a secret part, 
Where that false couple were full closely 

ment 4° 

In wanton lust and leud enbracement : 
Which when he saw, he burnt with gealous 

fire, 
The eie of reason was with rage yblent, 
And would have slaine them in his furious 

ire. 
But hardly was restreined of that aged 

sire. 45 

VI 

Retourning to his bed in torment great, 

And bitter anguish of his guilty sight, 

He could not rest, but did his stout heart 

eat. 
And wast his inward gall with deepe de- 

spight, 
Yrkesome of life, and too long lingring 



night. 



so 



At last faire Hesperus in highest skie 
Had spent his lampe, and brought forth 

dawning light; 
Then up he rose, and clad him hastily; 
The dwarfe him brought his steed: so both 

away do fly. 



Now when the rosy fingred Morning faire, 
Weary of aged Tithones saffron bed, s6 

Had spred her purple robe through deawy 

aire. 
And the high hils Titan discovered. 
The royall virgin shooke of drousyhed. 
And rising forth out of her baser bowre, 60 
Lookt for her knight, who far away was 

fled. 
And for her dwarfe, that wont to wait each 

howre : 
Then gan she wail and weepe, to see that 

woeful stowre. 



And after him she rode with so much 

speede, 
As her slowe beast could make ; but all in 

vaine : 65 

For him so far had borne his light-foot 

steede, 



Pricked with wrath and fiery fierce dis- 

daine, 
That him to follow was but fruitlesse paine; 
Yet she her weary limbes would never rest. 
But every hil and dale, each wood and 

plaine, 70 

Did search, sore grieved in her gentle brest, 
He so ungently left her, whome she loved 

best. 



But subtill Archimago, when his guests 
He saw divided into double parts,. 
And Una wandring in woods and forrests, 
Th' end of his drift, he praisd his divel- 

ish arts, 76 

That had such might over true meaning 

harts : 
Yet rests not so, but other meanes doth 

make. 
How he may worke unto her further smarts : 
For her he hated as the hissing snake, 80 
And in her many troubles did most pleasure 

take. 



He then devisde himselfe how to disguise; 
For by his mighty science he could take 
As many formes and shapes in seeming 

wise. 
As ever Proteus to himselfe could make: 8s 
Sometime a fowle, sometime a -fish in lake. 
Now like a foxe, now like a dragon fell. 
That of himselfe he ofte for feare would 

quake. 
And oft would flie away. O who can tell 
The hidden powre of herbes, and might of 

magick spel? 90 



But now seemde best, the person to put on 
Of that good knight, his late beguiled guest: 
In mighty armes he was yclad anon. 
And silver shield; upon his coward brest 
A bloody crosse, and on his craven crest 95 
A bounch of heares discolourd diversly: 
Full jolly knight he seemde, and wel ad- 

drest. 
And when he sate uppon his courser free. 
Saint George himselfe ye would have 

deemed him to be. 



But he, the knight whose semblaunt he did 

beare, ^°° 

The true Saint George, was wandred far 
away, 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



IK 



Still flying from his thoughts and gealous 

f eare ; 
Will was his guide, and griefe led him 

astray. 
At last him chaunst to meete upon the way 
A faithlesse Sarazin, all armde to point, io5 
In whose great shield was writ with letters 

gay 
Sans foy: full large of limbe and every 

joint 
He was, and cared not for God or man a 

point. 

XIII 

Hee had a faire companion of his way, 
A goodly lady clad in scarlot red, "o 

Purfled with gold and pearle of rich assay; 
And like a Persian mitre on her hed 
Shee wore, with crowns and owches gar- 
nished. 
The which her lavish lovers to her gave : 
Her wanton palfrey all was overspred "5 
With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave. 
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and 
bosses brave. 

XIV 

With faire disport and courting dalliaunce 
She intertainde her lover all the way : 
But when she saw the knight his speare 

advaunce, 120 

Shee soone left of her mirth and wanton 

play. 
And bad her knight addresse him to the 

fray: 
His foe was nigh at hand. He, prickte with 

pride 
And hope to winne his ladies hearte that 

day, 
Forth spurred fast: adowne his coursers 

side 125 

The red bloud trickling staind the way, as 

he did ride. 

XV 

The Knight of the Redcrosse, when him he 

spide 
Spurring so hote with rage dispiteous, 
Gan fairely couch his speare, and towards 

ride: 
Soone meete they both, both fell and furi- 
ous, 130 
That, daunted with theyr forces hideous, 
Their steeds doe stagger, and amazed stand, 
And eke themselves, too rudely rigorous, 
Astonied with the stroke of their owne 
hand, 



Doe backe rebutte, and ech to other yealdeth 
land. 13s 



As when two rams, stird with ambitious 

pride. 
Fight for the rule of the rich fleeced flocke, 
Their horned fronts so fierce on either 

side 
Doe meete, that, with the terror of ■ the 

shocke 
Astonied, both stand sencelesse as a blocke, 
ForgetfuU of the hanging victory: 141 

So stood these twaine, unmoved as a rocke, 
Both staring fierce, and holding idely 
The broken reliques of their former cruelty. 



The Sarazin, sore daunted with the buffe, 
Snatcheth his sword, and fiercely to him 

flies; 146 

Who well it wards, and quyteth cuff with 

cuff: 
Each others equall puissaunce envies, 
And through their iron sides with cruell 

spies 
Does seeke to perce : repining courage 

yields 150 

No foote to foe. The flashing fier flies, 
As from a forge, out of their burning 

shields, 
And streams of purple bloud new dies the 

verdant fields. 



' Curse on that Crosse,' quoth then the Sara- 
zin, 
' That keepes thy body from the bitter fitt ! 
Dead long ygoe, I wote, thou haddest bin, 
Had not that charme from thee forwarned 
itt: 157 

But yet I warne thee now assured sitt. 
And hide thy head.' Therewith upon his 

crest 
With rigor so outrageous he smitt, 160 

That a large share it hewd out of the rest. 
And glauncing downe his shield, from blame 
him fairely blest. 



Who thereat wondrous wroth, the sleeping 

spark 
Of native vertue gan eftsoones revive, 
And at his haughty helmet making mark, 
So hugely stroke, that it the Steele did rive. 
And cleft his head. He, tumbling downe 

alive, 167 



120 



EDMUND SPENSER 



With bloudy mouth his mother earth did 

kis, 
Greeting his grave: his grudging ghost did 

strive 
With the f raile flesh ; at last it flitted is, 
Whether the soules doe fly of men that live 

amis. '71 



The lady, when she saw her champion fall, 
Like the old ruines of a broken towre, 
Staid not to waile his woefuU funerall, 
But from him fled away with all her powre; 
Who after her as hastily gan scowre, 176 
Bidding the dwarfe with him to bring away 
The Sarazins shield, signe of the conquer- 

oure. 
Her soone he overtooke, and bad to stay, 
For present cause was none of dread her 

to dismay. ^^° 



Shee, turning backe with rueful! counte- 

naunce, 
Cride, 'Mercy, mercy, sir, vouchsafe to 

showe 
On silly dame, subject to hard mischaunce. 
And to your mighty wil 1 ' Her humblesse 

low. 
In so ritch weedes and seeming glorious 
show, '^S 

Did much emmove his stout heroicke heart, 
And said, ' Deare dame, your suddein over- 
throw 
Much rueth me; but now put feare apart, 
And tel, both who ye be, and who that tooke 
your part.' , 

XXII 

Melting in teares, then gan shee thus la- 
ment: 190 
' The wreched woman, whom unhappy howre 
Hath now made thrall to your commande- 

ment. 
Before that angry heavens list to lowre, 
And Fortune false betraide me to your 
powre, '94 

Was, (O what now availeth that I was?) 
Borne the sole daughter of an emperour. 
He that the wide west under his rule has, 
And high hath set his throne where Tiberis 
doth pas. 



'He, in the first flowre of my freshest age, 
Betrothed me unto the onely haire 200 

Of a most mighty king, most rich and sage ; 



Was never prince so faithfull and so faire, 
Was never prince so meeke and debonaire ; 
But ere my hoped day of spousall shone. 
My dearest lord fell from high honors 

staire, 20s 

Into the hands of hys accursed fone^ 
And cruelly was slaine, that shall I ever 

mone. 



' His blessed body, spoild of lively breath, 
Was afterward, I know not how, convaid 
And fro me hid : of whose most innocent 

death 210 

When tidings came to mee, unhappy maid, 
O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid ! 
Then forth I went his woefull corse to find, 
And many yeares throughout the world I 

straid, 
A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind 
With love, long time did languish as the 

striken hind. 216 



*At last it chaunced this proud Sarazin 
To meete me wandring; who perforce me 

led 
With him away, but yet could never win 
The fort, that ladies hold in soveraigne 

dread. 220 

There lies he now with foule dishonor 

dead. 
Who, whilse he livde, was called proud 

Sansfoy : 
The eldest of three brethren, all three bred 
Of one bad sire, whose youngest is Sansjoy, 
And twixt them both was born the bloudy 

bold Sansloy. 225 



' In this sad plight, friendlesse, unfortunate. 
Now miserable I Fidessa dwell. 
Craving of you, in pitty of my state, 
To doe none ill, if please ye not doe well.' 
He in great passion al this while did dwell. 
More busying his quicke eies, her face to 

view, 231 

Then his dull eares, to heare what shee did 

tell; 
And said, * Faire lady, hart of flint would 

rew 
The undeserved woes and sorrows which 

ye shew. 



' Henceforth in safe assuraunce may ye 
rest, ^35 



THE FAERIE QUEENE 



121 



Having both found a new friend you to 

aid, 
And lost an old foe, that did you molest: 
Better new friend then an old foe is said.' 
With chaunge of chear the seeming simple 

maid 
Let fal her eien, as shamefast, to the earth, 
And yeelding soft, in that she nought gain- 
said, 241 
So forth they rode, he feining seemely 

merth. 
And shee coy lookes: so dainty, they say, 
maketh derth. 

xxvni 

Long time they thus together traveiled, 
Til, weary of their way, they came at last 
Where grew two goodly trees, that faire 
did spred 246 

Their armes abroad, with gray mosse over- 
cast. 
And their greene leaves, trembling with 

every blast. 
Made a calme shadowe far in compasse 
round : 249 

The fearefull shepheard, often there aghast, 
Under them never sat, ne wont there sound 
His merry oaten pipe, but shund th' unlucky 
ground. 



But this good knight, soone as he them can 

spie. 
For the coole shade him thither hastly got : 
For golden Phoebus, now ymounted hie, 25s 
From fiery wheeles of his faire chariot 
Hurled his beame so scorching cruell hot, 
That living creature mote it not abide; 
And his new lady it endured not. 
There they alight, in hope themselves to 

hide 260 

From the fierce heat, and rest their weary 

limbs a tide. 



Faire seemely pleasaunce each to other 

makes. 
With goodly purposes, there as they sit : 
And in his falsed fancy he her takes 
To be the fairest wight that lived yit ; 265 
Which to expresse, he bends his gentle wit. 
And thinking of those braunches greene to 

frame 
A girlond for her dainty forehead fit. 
He pluckt a bough; out of whose rifte there 

came 
Smal drops of gory bloud, that trickled 

down the same. 270 



Therewith a piteous yelling voice was heard, 
Crying, ' O spare with guilty hands to teare 
My tender sides in this rough rynd em- 
bard ; 
But fly, ah ! fly far hence away, for feare 
Least to you hap that happened to me 
heare, 275 

And to this wretched lady, my deare love ; 
O too deare love, love bought with death 

too deare ! ' 
Astond he stood, and up his heare did hove, 
And with that suddein horror could no 
member move. 

XXXII 

At last, whenas the dreadfull passion 
Was overpast, and manhood well awake, 
Yet musing at this straunge occasion, 282 
And doubting much his sence, he thus be- 
spake : 
' What voice of damned ghost from Limbo- 
lake, 
Or guilefull spright wandring in empty aire. 
Both which fraile men doe oftentimes mis- 
take, 286 
Sends to my doubtful eares these speaches 

rare. 
And ruefull plaints, me bidding guiltlesse 
blood to spare ? ' 



Then groning deep : ' Nor damned ghost,' 
quoth he, 

' Nor guileful spirite to thee these words 
doth speake, 290 

But once a man, Fradubio, now a tree; 

Wretched man, wretched tree ! whose na- 
ture weake 

A cruell witch, her cursed will to wreake. 

Hath thus transformd, and plast in open 
plaines. 

Where Boreas doth blow full bitter bleake. 

And scorching sunne does dry my secret 
vaines : 296 

For though a tree I seme, yet cold and heat 
me paines.' 

XXXIV 

' Say on, Fradubio, then, or man or tree,' 
Quoth then the knight; 'by whose mis- 
chievous arts 
Art thou misshaped thus, as now I see? 
He oft finds med'cine who his griefe im- 
parts ; 301 
But double griefs afiflict concealing harts. 
As raging flames who striveth to suppresse.' 



122 



EDMUND SPENSER 



' The author then,' said he, ' of all my 

smarts, 
Is one Duessa, a false sorceresse, 3os 

That many errant knights hath broght to 

wretchednesse. 

XXXV 

'In prime of youthly yeares, when corage 

hott 
The fire of love and joy of chevalree 
' First kindled in my brest, it was my lott 
To love this gentle lady, whome ye see 310 
Now not a lady, but a seeming tree; 
With whome as once I rode accompanyde, 
Me chaunced of a knight encountred bee. 
That had a like faire lady by his syde; 
Lyke a faire lady, but did fowle Duessa 
hyde. 315 

XXXVI 

' Whose forged beauty he did take in hand 
All other dames to have exceded f arre ; 
I in defence of mine did likewise stand, 
Mine, that did then shine as the morning 

starre : 
So both to batteill fierce arraunged arre; 
In which his harder fortune was to fall 321 
Under my speare ; such is the dye of warre : 
His lady, left as a prise martiall. 
Did yield her comely person, to be at my 

call. 



' So doubly lov'd of ladies unlike faire, 32s 
Th' one seeming such, the other such in- 

deede, 
One day in doubt I cast for to compare. 
Whether in beauties glorie did exceede; 
A rosy girlond was the victors meede. 
Both seemde to win, and both seemde won 

to bee, 330 

So hard the discord was to be agreede : 
Fraelissa was as faire as faire mote bee. 
And ever false Duessa seemde as faire as 

shee. 

XXXVIII 

* The wicked witch, now seeing all this 

while 334 

The doubtfull ballaunce equally to sway, 
What not by right, she cast to win by 

guile ; 
And by her hellish science raisd streight 

way 
A foggy mist, that overcast the day. 
And a dull blast, that, breathing on her 

face, 



Dimmed her former beauties shining ray, 
And with foule ugly forme did her dis- 
grace : 341 
Then was she fayre alone, when none was 
faire in place. 



'Then cride she out, " Fye, fye! deformed 

wight. 
Whose borrowed beautie now appeareth 

plaine 
To have before bewitched all mens sight; 
O leave her soone, or let her soone be 

slaine." 34^ 

Her loathly visage viewing with disdaine, 
Eftsoones I thought her such as she me 

told. 
And would have kild her; but with faigned 

paine 
The false witch did my wrathful! hand 

with-hold: 3So 

So left her, where she now is turnd to 

treen mould. 



'Thensforth I tooke Duessa for my dame, 
And in the witch unweeting joyd long time, 
Ne ever wist but that she was the same : 
Till on a day (that day is everie prime, 355 
When witches wont do penance for their 

crime) 
I chaunst to see her in her proper hew, 
Bathing her selfe in origane and thyme: 
A filthy foule old woman I did vew. 
That ever to have toucht her I did deadly 

rew. 360 

XLI 

'Her neather partes misshapen, monstruous, 
Were hidd in water, that I could not see, 
But they did seeme more foule and hideous. 
Then womans shape man would beleeve to 

bee. 
Thensforth from her most beastly com- 

panie 36s 

I gan refraine, in minde to slipp away, 
Soone as appeard safe opportunitie : 
For danger great, if not assurd decay, 
I saw before mine eyes, if I were knowne 

to stray. 

XLII 

' The divelish hag, by chaunges of my 

cheare, 270 

Perceiv'd my thought; and drownd in 
I sleepie night. 



AMORETTI 



123 



With wicked herbes and oyntments did be- 

smeare 
My body all, through charmes and magicke 

might, 
That all my senses were bereaved quight : 
Then brought she me into this desert waste, 
And by my wretched lovers side me pight, 
Where now enclosd in wooden wals full 

faste, 377 

Banisht from living wights, our wearie 

daies we waste.' 



'But how long time,' said then the Elfin 

knight, 
'Are you in this misformed hous to 

dwell ? ' 380 

* We may not chaunge,' quoth he, ' this evill 

plight 
Till we be bathed in a living well ; 
That is the terme prescribed by the spell.' 
' O how,' sayd he, ' mote I that well out 

find, 384 

That may restore you to your wonted well? ' 
' Time and suffised fates to former kynd 
Shall us restore; none else from hence may 

us unbynd.' 

XLIV 

The false Duessa, now Fidessa hight, 
Heard how in vaine Fradubio did lament, 
And knew well all was true. But the good 

knight 390 

Full of sad feare and ghastly dreriment. 
When all this speech the living tree had 

spent, 
The bleeding bough did thrust into the 

ground. 
That from the blood he might be innocent. 
And with fresh clay did close the wooden 

wound : 39s 

Then turning to his lady, dead with feare 

her fownd. 

XLV 

Her seeming dead he fownd with feigned 

feare. 
As all unweeting of that well she knew. 
And paynd himselfe with busie care to 

reare 
Her out of carelesse swowne. Her eyelids 

blew, 400 

And dimmed sight, with pale and deadly 

hew, 
At last she up gan lift: with trembling 

cheare 
Her up he tooke, too simple and too trew, 



And oft her kist. At length, all passed 

feare. 
He set her on her steede, and forward 

forth did beare. 4<»5 

* * * 



AMORETTI 



Happy ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands. 
Which hold my life in their dead doing 

might. 
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft 

bands, 
Lyke -captives trembling at the victors sight. 
And happy lines ! on which, with starry 

light, 5 

Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes 

to look, 
And reade the sorrowes of my dying 

spright. 
Written with teares in harts close bleeding 

book. 
And happy rymes! bath'd in the sacred 

brooke 
Of Helicon, whence she derived is, 10 

When ye behold that angels blessed looke. 
My soules long lacked foode, my heavens 

Wis. 
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to 

please alone. 
Whom if ye please, I care for other none. 

VIII 

More then most faire, full of the living 

fire 
♦Kindled above unto the Maker neere : 

No eies, but joyes, in which al powers con- 
spire. 

That to the world naught else be counted 
deare : 

Thrugh your bright beams doth not the 
blinded guest 5 

Shoot out his darts to base affections 
wound ; 

But angels come, to lead fraile mindes to 
rest 

In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound. 

You frame my thoughts, and fashion me 
within. 

You stop my toung, and teach my hart to 
speake, 10 

You calme the storme that passion did be- 
gin, 

Strong thrugh your cause, but by your ver- 
tue weak. 



124 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Dark is the world where your light shined 

never ; 
Well is he borne that may behold you ever. 

XXIV 

When I behold that beauties wonderment, 
And rare perfection of each goodly part. 
Of Natures skill the onely complement, 
I honor and admire the Makers art. 
But when I feele the bitter balefulle smart 5 
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke 

in mee, 
That death out of theyr shiny beames doe 

dart, 
I thinke that I a new Pandora see; 
Whom all the gods in councell did agree, 
Into this sinfull world from heaven to 

send, ^'^ 

That she to wicked men a scourge should 

bee, 
For all their faults with which they did 

offend. 
But since ye are my scourge, I will intreat 
That for my faults ye will me gently beat, 

XXXIV 

Lyke as a ship, that through the ocean 

wyde 
By conduct of some star doth make her 

way, 
Whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty 

guyde. 
Out of her course doth wander far astray; 
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright 

ray S 

Me to direct, with cloudes is overcast, 
Doe wander now in darknesse and dismay. 
Through hidden perils round about me plast., 
Yet hope I well, that when this storme is 

past, 
My Helice, the lodestar of my lyfe, lo 

Will shine again, and looke on me at last, 
With lovely light to cleare my cloudy grief. 
Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse, 
In secret sorrow and sad pensivenesse. 



After long stormes and tempests sad assay, 
Which hardly I endured heretofore, 
In dread of death, and daungerous dis- 
may, 
With which my silly barke was tossed sore, 
I doe at length descry the happy shore, 5 
In which I hope ere long for to arryve: 
Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught 

with store 
Of all that deare and daynty is alyve. 



Most happy he that can at last atchyve 
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest; 1° 
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 
Remembrance of all paines \vhich him op- 

prest. 
All paines are nothing in respect of this. 
All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse. 



Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty 

king, 
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd 
All sorts of flowers the which on earth do 

spring, 
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd, 
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse 

layd, S 

Yet in her winters bowre, not well awake ; 
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid, 
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take : 
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready 

make, 
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew, lo 
Where every one that misseth then her 

make 
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. 
Make hast therefore, sweet love, whilest it 

is prime; 
For none can call againe the passed time. 

LXXII 

Oft when my spirit doth spred her bolder 

winges, 
In mind to mount up to the purest sky. 
It down is weighd with thoght of earthly 

things, 
And clogd with burden of mortality: 
Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth 

spy, _ S 

Resembling heavens glory in her light, 
Drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back 

doth fly. 
And unto heaven forgets her former flight. 
There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight. 
Doth bath in blisse, and mantleth most at 

ease ; ^° 

Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might 
Her harts desire with most contentment 

please. 
Hart need not wish none other happinesse, 
But here on earth to have such hevens 

blisse. 



Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, 
For that your selfe ye dayly such doe 
see: 



EPITHALAMION 



125 



But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit 
And vertuous mind, is much more praysd 

of me. 
For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, 5 

Shall turne to nought and loose that glori- 
ous hew: 
But onely that is permanent, and free 
From frayle corruption, that doth flesh en- 
sew. 
That is true beautie : that doth argue you 
To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed, 1° 
Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit from whom 

al true 
And perfect beauty did at first proceed. 
He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath 

made; 
All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. 



EPITHALAMION 

Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes 

Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, 

Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful! 
rymes. 

That even the greatest did not greatly 
scorne 

To heare theyr names sung in your simple 
layes, 5 

But joyed in theyr praise; 

And when ye list your owne mishaps to 
mourne, 

Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck 
did rayse. 

Your string could soone to sadder tenor 
turne. 

And teach the woods and waters to la- 
ment 10 

Your dolefull dreriment: 

Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside, 

And having all your heads with girland 
crownd, 

Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to re- 
sound ; 

Ne let the same of any be envide: iS 

So Orpheus did for his owne bride; 

So I unto my selfe alone will sing; 

The woods shall to me answer, and my 
eccho ring. 

Early, before the worlds light giving lampe 
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 
Having disperst the nights unchearefull 
dampe, 21 

Doe ye awake, and, with fresh lustyhed, 
Go to the bowre of my beloved love, 
My truest turtle dove: 



Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake, 25 
And long since ready forth his maske to 

move. 
With his bright tead that flames with many 

a flake. 
And many a bachelor to waite on him, 
In theyr fresh garments trim. 
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her 

dight, 30 

For lo ! the wished day is come at last, 
That shall, for al the paynes and sorrowes 

past. 
Pay to her usury of long delight : 
And whylest she doth her dight, 
'Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, 35 
^That all the woods may answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

Bring with you all the nymphes that you 

can heare, 
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene, 
And of the sea that neighbours to her 

neare, 
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. 40 
And let them also with them bring in hand 
Another gay girland, 

For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses. 
Bound truelove wize with a blew silke 

riband. 
And let them make great store of bridale 

poses, 45 

And let them eeke bring store of other 

flowers. 
To deck the bridale bowers. 
And let the ground whereas her foot shall 

tread, 
For feare the stones her tender foot should 

wrong, 
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along. 
And diapred lyke the discolored mead, si 
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt. 
For she will waken strayt ; 
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing. 
The woods shall to you answer, and your 

eccho ring. ss 

Ye nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull 

heed 
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well, 
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed, 
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo ex- 
cell) 
And ye likewise which keepe the rushy lake, 
Where none doo fishes take, 61 

Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd 

light',_ 
And in his waters, which your mirror make, 



126 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Behold your faces as the christall bright, 
That when you come whereas my love doth 

lie, _ 6s 

No blemish she may spie. 
And eke ye lightfoot mayds which keepe 

the dere 
That on the hoary mountayne use to towre, 
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them 

to devoure. 
With your Steele darts doo chace from com- 

ming neer, 7° 

Be also present heere, 

To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing, 
That all the woods may answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time: 
The rosy Morne long since left Tithones 

bed, 75 

All ready to her silver coche to clyme. 
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. 
Hark how the cheerefuU birds do chaunt 

theyr laies, 
And carroll of loves praise ! 
The merry larke hir mattins sings aloft, 8o 
The thrush replyes, the mavis descant 

playes, 
The ouzell shrills, the ruddock warbles soft. 
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent. 
To this dayes merriment. 
Ah ! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus 

long, 8s 

When meeter were that ye should now 

awake, 
T 'awayt the comming ox your joyous mate, 
And hearken to the birds love-learned song. 
The deawy leaves among? 
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 
That all the woods them answer, and theyr 

eccho ring. . 9i 

My love is now awake out of her dreame. 

And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed 
were 

With darksome cloud, now shew theyr good- 
ly beams 

More bright then Hesperus his head doth 
rere. 9S 

Come now, ye damzels, daughters of de- 
light, 

Helpe quickly her to dight. 

But first come ye, fayre Houres, which 
were begot. 

In Joves sweet paradice, of Day and Night, 

Which doe the seasons of the year allot, 1°° 

And al that ever in this world is fayre 

Do make and still repayre. 

And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian 
Queene, 



The which doe still adorne her beauties 
pride, io4 

Helpe to addorne my beautifuUest bride: 
And as ye her array, still throw betweene 
Some graces to be scene : 
And as ye use to Venus, to her sing, 
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your 
eccho ring. 

Now is my love all ready forth to come: "o 
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt. 
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her 

groome. 
Prepare your selves, for he is comming 

strayt. 
Set all your things in seemely good aray. 
Fit for so joy full day, "S 

The joyfulst day that ever sunne did se^. — ' 
Faire Sun, shew forth thy favourable ray, 
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, 
For feare of burning her sunshyny face, 
Her beauty to disgrace. i^o 

O fayrest Phoebus, father of the Muse, 
H ever I did honour thee aright, 
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind de- 
light. 
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse, 
But let this day, let this one day be myne, 
Let all the rest be thine. 126 

Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing, 
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr 
eccho ring. 

Harke how the minstrels gin to shrill aloud 
Their merry musick that resounds from 

far, 130 

The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud. 
That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
But most of all the damzels doe delite, 
When they their tymbrels smyte. 
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet. 
That all the sences they doe ravish quite, 136 
The whyles the boyes run up and downe 

the street. 
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce, 
As if it were one voyce. 
' Plymen, Id Hymen, Hymen,' they do shout. 
That even to the heavens theyr shouting 

shrill 141 

Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill ; 
To which the people, standing all about, 
As in approvance doe thereto applaud, 
And loud advaunce her laud, '45 

And evermore they ' Hymen, Hymen ' sing. 
That al the woods them answer, and theyr 

eccho ring. 

Loe ! where she comes along with portly 
pace. 



EPITHALAMION 



127 



Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the east, 
Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 150 
Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best. 
So well it her beseemes, that ye would 

weene 
Some angell she had beene. 
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden 

wyre, 
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres 

atweene, ^55 

Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre. 
And being crowned with a girland greene, 
Seeme lyke some mayden queene. 
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
■' ,, So many gazers as on her do stare, 160 

Upon the lowly ground affixed are; 
j., Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
I But blush to heare her prayses sung so 

loud, 
So farre from being proud. 
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses 



smg, 



i6s 



That all the woods may answer, and your 
eccho ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye 

see 
So fayre a creature in your towne before, 
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues 

store? 170 

Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining 

bright. 
Her forehead yvory white. 
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath 

rudded. 
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to 

byte, 
Her brest like to a bowleof creame uncrud- 

ded, 17s 

Her paps lyke lyllies budded. 
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre. 
And all her body like a pallace fayre, 
Ascending uppe, with many a stately stayre, 
To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. 
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze, 181 
Upon her so to gaze. 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing. 
To which the woods did answer, and your 

eccho ring. 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 
The inward beauty of her lively spright, 186 
Garni sht with heavenly guifts of high de- 
gree. 
Much more then would ye wonder at that 

sight, 
And stand astonisht lyke to those which 
red 



Medusaes mazeful hed. 190 

There dwels sweet Love and constant Chas- 
tity, 
Unspotted Fayth, and comely Womanhood, 
Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty; 
There Vertue raynes as queene in royal 

throne. 
And giveth lawes alone, i95 

The which the base affections doe obay. 
And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may 
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. 
Had ye once scene these her celestial threa- 
sures, ^00 

And unrevealed pleasures, 
Then would ye wonder, and her prayses 

sing. 
That al the woods should answer, and your 
echo ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my love, 
Open them wide that she may enter in, 205 
And all the postes adorne as doth behove. 
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim. 
For to receyve this saynt with honour dew, 
That commeth in to you. 
With trembling steps and humble rever- 
ence, 210 
She commeth in before th' Almighties vew; 
Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience, 
When so ye come into those holy places, 
To humble your proud faces. 
Bring her up to th' high altar, that she 
may 215 
The sacred ceremonies there partake. 
The which do endlesse matrimony make; 
And let the roring organs loudly play 
The praises of the Lord in lively notes. 
The whiles with hollow throates 220 
The choristers the joyous antheme sing. 
That al the woods may answere, and their 
eccho ring. 

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands. 
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes. 
And blesseth her with his two happy 

hands, 225 

How the red roses flush up in her cheekes. 
And the pure snow with goodly vermill 

stayne. 
Like crimsin dyde in grayne': 
That even th' angels, which continually 
About the sacred altare doe remaine, 230 
Forget their service and about her fly, 
Ofte peeping in her face, that seemes more 

fayre, 
The more they on it stare. 
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the 

ground. 



128 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Are governed with goodly modesty, ^35 

That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry, 
Which may let in a little thought unsownd. 
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your 

hand, 
The pledge of all our band?' 
Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluya sing, 240 
That all the woods may answere, and your 

eccho ring. 

Now al is done; bring home the bride 

againe. 
Bring home the triumph of our victory, 
Bring home with you the glory of her 

gaine, 
With joyance bring her and with jollity. 245 
Never had man more joyfull day then this. 
Whom heaven would heape with blis. 
Make feast therefore now all this live long 

day; 
This day for ever to me holy is ; 
Poure out the wine without restraint or 

stay, 250 

Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, 
Poure out to all that wull, 
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with 

wine, 
That they may sweat, and drunken be with- 

all. 
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall. 
And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of 

vine; 256 

And let the Graces daunce unto the rest. 
For they can doo it best : 
The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll 

sing. 
The which the woods shal answer, and theyr 

eccho ring. 260 

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the 

towne, 
And leave your wonted labors for this day: 
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe, 
That ye for ever it remember may. 
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight. 
With Barnaby the bright, 266 

From whence declining daily by degrees, 
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, 
When once the Crab behind his back he 

sees. 
But for this time it ill ordained was, 270 
To chose the longest day in all the yeare, 
And shortest night, when longest fitter 

weare : 
Yet never day so long, but late would passe. 
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away. 
And bonefires make all day, 275 

And daunce about them, and about them 

sing: 



That all the woods may answer, and your 
eccho ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have 

end, 
And lende me leave to come unto my 

love? 
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers 

spend ! 280 

How slowly does sad Time his feathers 

move! 
Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home 
Within the westerne fome : 
Thy tyred steedes long since have need of 

rest. 
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome. 
And the bright evening star with golden 

creast 286 

Appeare out of the east. 
Fayre childe of beauty, glorious lampe of 

love, 
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost 

lead. 
And guydest lovers through the nightes 

dread, 290 

How chearefully thou lookest from 

above, 
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling 

light, 
As joying in the sight 
Of these glad many, which for joy doe 

sing. 
That all the woods them answer, and their 

echo ring! 295 

Now ceasse, ye damsels, yoilr delights fore- 
past; 
Enough is it that all the day was youres : 
Now day is doen, and night is nighing 

fast: 
Now bring the bryde into the brydall 

boures. 
The night is come, now soone her disaray. 
And in her bed her lay; 301 

Lay her in lillies and in violets, 
And silken courteins over her display. 
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets. 
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly. 
In proud humility ! 306 

Like unto Maia, when as Jove her tooke 
In Tempe, lying on the fiowry gras, 
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary 

was 
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 310 
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon, 
And leave my love alone, 
And leave likewise your former lay to sing: 
The woods no more shal answere, nor your 
echo ring, 



EPITHALAMION 



129 



Now welcome, night! thou night so long 

expected, 
That long daies labour doest at last de- 
fray. 
And all my cares, which cruell Love col- 
lected, 
Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye: 
Spread thy broad wing over my love and 

me, 
That no man may us see, 3^o 

And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, 
From feare of perrill and foule horror free. 
Let rio false treason seeke us to entrap, 
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
The safety of our joy: 32s 

But let the night be calme and quietsome, 
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray: 
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena 

lay. 
When he begot the great Tirynthian 

groome : 
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did 
lie, 330 

And begot Majesty. 
And let the mayds and yongmen cease to 

sing : 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr 
eccho ring. 

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, 
Be heard all night within, nor yet without : 
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden 

feares, 336 

Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived 

dout. 
Let no deluding dreamesj nor dreadful 

sights. 
Make sudden sad affrights ; 
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helplesse 

harmes, 340 

Ne let the Pcuke, nor other evill sprights, 
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr 

charmes, 
Ne let hob goblins, names whose sense we 

see not. 
Fray us with things that be not. 
Let not the shriech oule, nor the storke be 

heard, 34s 

Nor the night raven that still deadly yels, 
Nor damned ghosts cald up with mighty 

spels, 
Nor griesly vultures make us once affeard : 
Ne let th' unpleasant quyre of frogs still 

croking 
Make us to wish theyr choking. 350 

Let none of these theyr drgry accents 

sing; 
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr 

eccho ring. 



But let stil Silence trew night watches 

keepe, 
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne. 
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to 

sleepe, 3SS 

May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant 

playne. 
The whiles an hundred little winged loves, 
Like divers fethered doves. 
Shall fly and flutter round about our bed. 
And in the secret darke, that none reproves. 
Their prety stealthes shall worke, and 

snares shal spread 361 

To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at 

will : 
For greedy Pleasure, careless of your toyes, 
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes. 
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. 367 
All night therefore attend your merry play, 
For it will scone be day : 
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing, 
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your 

eccho ring. 371 

Who is the same which at my window 

peepes? 
Or whose is that faire face that shines so 

bright ? 
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes. 
But walkes about high heaven al the night? 
O fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy 376 
My love with me to spy: 
For thou likewise didst love, though now 

unthought, 
And for a fleece of woll, which privily 
The Latmian shephard once unto thee 

brought, 380 

His pleasures with thee wrought. 
Therefore to us be favorable now; 
And sith of wemens labours thou hast 

charge, 
And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
Encline thy will t' effect our wishfull vow. 
And the chast wombe in forme with timely 

seed, 386 

That may our comfort breed : 
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to siaig, 
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our eccho 

ring. 

And thou, great Juno, which with awful 
might 390 

The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize. 
And the religion of the faith first plight 
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize, 
And eeke for comfort often called art 
Of women in their smart, 39S 



130 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Eternally bind thou this lovely band, 
And all thy blessings unto us impart. 
And thou, glad Genius, in whose gentle hand 
The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine, 
Without blemish or staine, 4°° 

And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves 

delight 
With secret ayde doest succour and supply, 
Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny, 
Send us the timely fruit of this same night. 
And thou, fayre Hebe, and thou, Hymen 

free, 405 

Grant that it may so be. 
Til which we cease your further prayse to 

sing, 
Ne any woods shal answer, nor j'-our eccho 
r, ring. 

And ye high heavens, the temple of the 

gods, . 409 

In which a thousand torches flaming bright 
Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods 
In dreadful darknesse lend desired light. 
And all ye powers which in the same re- 

mayne. 
More then we men can fayne, 
Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 
And happy influence upon us raine, 416 

That we may raise a large posterity. 
Which from the earth, which they may 

long possesse 
With lasting happinesse, 
Up to your haughty pallaces may mount, 42° 
And for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, 
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit. 
Of blessed saints for to increase the count. 
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this. 
And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing: 
The woods no more us answer, nor our 

eccho ring. 4^6 

Song, made in lieu of many ornaments 
With which my love should duly have bene 

dect. 
Which cutting off through hasty accidents. 
Ye would not stay your dew time to expect. 
But promist both to recompens, 431 

Be unto her a goodly ornament. 
And for short time an endlesse moniment. 



PROTHAIJ^MION 

Calme was the day, and through the trem- 
bling ayre 
Sweete breathing Zephyrus did softly play, 
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster 
fayre • 



When I, whom sullein care, 5 

Through discontent of my long fruitlesse 

stay 
In princes court, and expectation vayne 
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away, 
Like empty shaddowes, did aflict my brayne, 
Walkt forth to ease my pa3me '" 

Along the shoare of silver streaming 

Themmes ; 
Whose rutty bancke, the which his river 

hemmes. 
Was paynted all with variable flowers, 
And all the meades adornd with ciaintir 

gemmes. 
Fit to decke maydens bowres, ^S 

And crowne their paramours, 
Against the brydale day, which is not long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

There, in a meadow, by the rivers side, 
A flocke of nymphes I chaunced to espy, 2( 
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby. 
With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde. 
As each had bene a bryde : 
And each one had a little wicker basket. 
Made of fine twigs entrayled curiously, 25 
In which they gathered flowers to fill their 

flasket ; 
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 
The tender stalkes on hye. 
Of every sort, which in that meadow grew. 
They gathered some ; the violet pallid blew, 
The little dazie, that at evening closes, 3i 
The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew, 
With store of vermeil roses. 
To decke their bridegromes posies 
Against the brydale day, which was not 

long: 35 

Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

With that I saw two swannes of goodlj- 

hewe 
Come softly swimming downe along the 

lee; 
Two fairer birds I yet did never see: 
The snow which doth the top of Pindus 

strew 40 

Did never whiter shew. 
Nor Jove himselfe, when he a swan would 

be 
For love of Leda, whiter did appear: 
Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he. 
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing 

neare : 45 

So purely white they were, 
That even the gentle streame, the which 

them bare. 



PROTHALAMION 



131 



Scer.i'd fcule to them, and bad his billowes 

spare 
To wet their silken feathers, least they 

might 
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so 
'. fayre, 5o 

And marre their beauties bright, 
That shone as heavens light, 
Against their brydale day, which was not 
long : 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

Eftsoones the nymphes, which now had 

flowers their fill, ss 

Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, 
As they came floating on the christal flood ; 
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed 

still. 
Their wondring eyes to fill. 
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so 

fayre, 60 

Of fowles so lovely, that they sure did 

deeme 
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same 

payre 
Which through the skie draw Venus silver 

teeme ; 
For sure they did not seeme 
To be begot of any earthly seede, 65 

But rather angels or of angels breede: 
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they 

say, 
In sweetest season, when each flower and 

weede 
The earth did fresh aray ; 
So fresh they seem'd as day, 7° 

Even as their brydale day, which was not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

Then forth they all out of their baskets 

drew 
Great store of flowers, the honour of the 

field. 
That to the sense did fragrant odours yield. 
All which upon those goodly birds they 

threw, 76 

And all the waves did strew, 
That like old Peneus waters they did 

seeme, 
When downe along by pleasant Tempes 

shore, 
Scattred M^ith flowres, through Thessaly 
they streeme, 8° 

That they appeare, through lillies plenteous 

store, 
Like a brydes chamber flore. 



Two of those nymphes, meane while, two 

garlands bound 
Of freshest flowres which in that mead 

they found. 
The which presenting all in trim array, 85 
Their snowie foreheads therewithall they 

crownd, 
Whil'st one did sing this lay, 
Prepar'd against that day. 
Against their brydale day, which was not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 9° 

' Ye gentle birdes, the worlds faire orna- 
ment. 

And heavens glorie, whom this happie 
hower 

Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower, 

Joy may you have and gentle hearts con- 
tent 

Of your loves couplement : 95 

And let faire Venus, that is Queene of 
Love, 

With her heart-quelling sonne upon you 
smile. 

Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to 
remove 

All loves dislike, and friendships faultie 
guile 

For ever to assoile. 100 

Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts 
accord. 

And blessed plentie wait upon your lord ; 

And let your bed with pleasures chast 
abound, 

That fruitfull issue may to you afford, 

Which may your foes confound, los 

And make your joyes redound. 

Upon your brydale day, which is not long : 
Sweete Themmes, run softlie, till I end 
my song.' 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 

To her redoubled that her undersong, no 

Which said, their bridale daye should not 

be long. 
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour 

ground 
Their accents did resound. 
So forth those joyous birdes did passe along, 
Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde 

low, us 

As he would speake, but that he lackt a 

tong, 
Yeat did by signes his glad affection show. 
Making his streame run slow. 
And all the foule which in his flood did 

dwell 



132 



EDMUND SPENSER 



Gan flock about these twaine, that did ex- 
cell 120 

The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend 

The lesser starres. So they, enranged well, 

Did on those two attend, 

And their best service lend, 

Against their wedding day, which was not 
long: I2S 

Sweete Themmes, run softly, till I end 
my song. 

At length they all to mery London came, 
To mery London, my most kyndly nurse, 
That to me gave this lifes first native 

sourse : 
Though from another place I take my name. 
An house of auncient fame. 131 

There when they came, whereas those 

bricky towres. 
The which on Themmes brode aged backe 

doe ryde. 
Where now the studious lawyers have their 

bowers, 
There whylome wont the Templer Knights 

to byde, i35 

Till they decayd through pride : 
Next whereunto there standes a stately 

place. 
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace 
Of that great lord which therein wont to 

dwell. 
Whose want too well now feeles my 

freendles case: 140 

But ah ! here fits not well 
Olde woes, but joyes to tell. 
Against the bridale daye, which is not long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

Yet therein, now doth lodge a noble peer, 
Great Englands glory and the worlds wide 

wonder, 146 

Whose dreadful! name late through all 

Spaine did thunder. 
And Hercules two pillors standing neere 
Did make to quake and feare. 



Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie. 
That fillest England with thy triumphes 

fame, isi 

Joy have thou of thy noble victorie. 
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne 

name 
That promiseth the same : 
That through thy prowesse and victorious 

armes iss 

Thy country may be freed from forraine 

harmes ; 
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring 
Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide 

alarmes. 
Which some brave Muse may sing 
To ages following, 160 

Upon the brydale day, which is not long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord 

issuing. 
Like radiant Hesper when his golden hayre 
In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fayre. 
Descended to the rivers open vewing, 166 
With a great traine ensuing. 
Above the rest were goodly to bee scene 
Two gentle knights of lovely face and 

feature, 169 

Beseeming well the bower of anie queene. 
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, 
Fit for so goodly stature : 
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in 

sight. 
Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens 

bright. 
They two, forth pacing to the rivers side. 
Received those two faire brides, their loves 

delight, 176 

Which, at th' appointed tyde, 
Each one did make his bryde. 
Against their brydale day, which is not 

long: 
Sweete Themmes, runne softly, till I end 
my song. i8o 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 

As a whole, the brilliant lyrical effluence of the Elizabethan period may fairly be regarded 
as the product of English courtly life, and particularly, in its beginning, the product of the 
Renaissance court of Henry VIII. Wyatt and Surrey were conspicuous courtiers, and 
scarcely one of the contributors to Tottel's Miscellany (1557) was free from court influence. 
An inevitable result of courtliness in literature is convention, a too conscious refinement, and, 
often, a baffling veil of literary pretence. These qualities are salient and inherent in the 
Elizabethan sonnet. After its introduction into English literature by Sir Thomas Wyatt, and 
after its chastening in the hands of Surrey and others, this poetical form was first used in 
masterly fashion by Sir Philip Sidney in his Astrophel and Stella, the earliest sonnet sequence 
in English, composed a good while before its publication in 1591. During the decade 1590- 
IGOO, the sonnet was, apparently, the prevailing literary fashion, a fashion to which Shakspere 
submitted without restraint. Of the total number of these sonnets, — which ' far exceeds two 
thousand,' — the larger proportion are found in sonnet collections, or sonnet sequences, of 
which the most important, after those of Shakspere and Sidney, are the following : Delia 
(1592), by Samuel Daniel; Idea (1594), by Michael Drayton; and Amoretti (1595), by 
Edmund Spenser. With few exceptions, these sonnets, like those of Wyatt and Surrey, are 
imitations of Continental models. 

But since lyric is essentially the expression of personal emotion, the lyrist inevitably breaks 
out, at times, into a frank, intimate, and spontaneous utterance which is of all sorts of expres- 
sion the most immediately pleasurable. Free, fresh, and various are the lyrics found in the 
series of miscellanies which began with Tottel's Miscellany, and continued with The Paradise 
of Dainty Devices (1576), A Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions (1578), A Handful of 
Pleasant Delights (1584), The Phoenix' Nest (1593), I'he Passionate Pilgrim (1599), Eng- 
land's Helicon (IGOO), and Francis Davison's Poetical Rhapsody (1602). In one or other 
of these collections are represented the chief lyrical writers of the Elizabethan period. 

In a group apart from the lyrical miscellanies, though not conspicuously different from some 
of them in content, may be reckoned the Elizabethan song books. William Byrd's Psalms, 
Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety (1587) and Songs of Sundry Natures (1589) were 
followed, during the next decade or two, by some scores of similar collections, such as John 
Dowland's The First Book of Songs or Airs (1597), and Thomas Campion's A Book of Airs 
(1601). Along with the songs in song books should be mentioned those that delightfully 
enliven many of the plays of the period, eminently those of Lyly and of Shakspere. 



GEORGE GASCOIGNE 

(i525?-i577) 

A STRANGE PASSION OF A LOVER 

Amid my bale I bathe in bliss, 

I swim in heaven, I sink in hell : 

I find amends for every miss, 

And yet my moan no tongue can tell. 

I live and love, what would you more? S 

As never lover lived before. 

I laugh sometimes with little lust. 

So jest I oft and feel no joy; 

Mine eye is builded ail on trust, 

And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy. i" 



I live and lack, I lack and have ; 
I have and miss the thing I crave. 

These things seem strange, yet are they true. 
Believe me, sweet, my state is such, 
One pleasure which I would eschew, is 
Both slakes my grief and breeds my grutch. 
So doth one pain which I would shun, 
Renew my joys where grief begun. 

Then like the lark that passed the night 
In heavy sleep with cares opprest; 20 

Yet when she spies the pleasant light. 
She sends sweet notes from out her breast. 
So sing I now because I think 
How joys approach, when sorrows shrink. 



133 



134 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



And as fair Philomene again 25 

Can watch and sing when others sleep ; 

And taketh pleasure in her pain, 

To wray the woe that makes her weep. 

So sing I now for to bewray 

The loathsome life I lead alway. 3° 

The which to thee, dear wench, I write, 

That know'st my mirth, but not my moan : 

I pray God grant thee deep delight, 

To live in joys when I am gone. 

I cannot live; it will Hot be: - 3S 

I die to think to part from thee. 



SIR EDWARD DYER (i55o?-i6o7) 
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS 

My mind to me a kingdom is, 
Such present joys therein I find 

That it excels all other bliss 

That earth affords or grows by kind: 

Though much I want which most would 
have, S 

Yet still my mind forbids to crave. 

No princely pomp, no wealthy store, 

No force to win the victory, 
No wily wit to salve a sore. 

No shape to feed a loving eye; ^° 

To none of these I yield as thrall : 
For why? My mind doth serve for all. 

I see how plenty [surfeits] oft, 
And hasty climbers soon do fall ; 

I see that those which are aloft ^s 

Mishap doth threaten most of all ; 

They get with toil, they keep with fear : 

Such cares my mind could never bear. 

Content to live, this is my stay; 

I seek no more than may suffice ; 20 

I press to bear no haughty sway; 

Look, what I lack my mind supplies : 
Lo, thus I triumph like a king. 
Content with that my mind doth bring. 

Some have too much, yet still do crave ; 25 

' I little have, and seek no more. 

They are but poor, though much they have. 

And I atn rich with little store : 
They poor, I rich ; thej'^ beg, I give ; 
They lack, I leave ; they pine, I live. 30 

I laugh not at another's loss; 

I grudge not at another's pain; 
No worldly waves my mind can toss ; 

My state at one doth still remain : 
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend ; 35 

I loathe not life, nor dread my end. 



Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, 
Their wisdom by their rage of will; 

Their treasure is their only trust; 
A cloaked craft their store of skill: 40 

But all the pleasure that I find 

Is to maintain a quiet mind. 

My wealth is health and perfect ease ; 

My conscience clear my chief defence; 
I neither seek by bribes to please, 4S 

Nor by deceit to breed offence : 
Thus do I live; thus will I die; 
Would all did so as well as I ! 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 
(i552?-i6i8) 

THE SILENT LOVER 



Passions are likened best to floods and 
streams : 
The shallow murmur, but the deep are 
dumb. 
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems 
The bottom is but shallow whence they 
come. 
They that are rich in words, in words dis- 
cover S 
That they are poor in that which makes a 
lover. 

II 

Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 

The merit of true passion, 
With thinking that he feels no smart. 

That sues for no. compassion. 

Sil-ence in Iqye bewrays more wpe 5 

Than words, though ne'er so witty : 

A beggar that is dumb, you knovr, 
May challenge double pity. 

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart. 

My true, though secret passion ; i« 

(iie smarteth most that hides his smart, 
And sues for no compassionjl 

HIS PILGRIMAGE 

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet. 
My staff of faith to walk upon, 

My scrip of joy, immortal diet, 
My bottle of salvation, 

My gown of glory, hope's true gauge; 5 

And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. 



GEORGE PEELE 



I3S 



Blood must be my body's balmer ; 

No other balm will there be given; 
Whilst my soul, like a quiet palmer, 

Traveleth towards the land of heaven, lo 
Over the silver mountains, .^ . 

Where spring the nectar fountains. 
There will I kiss 
The bowl of bliss ; 
And drink mine everlasting fill '5 

Upon every milken hill. 
My soul will be a-dry before; 
But, after, it will thirst no more. 

Then by that happy blissful day 

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, 

That have cast off their rags of clay. 

And walk appareled fresh like me. 

I '11 take them first, 

To quench their thirst 24 

And taste of nectar suckets, / 

At those clear wells 

Where sweetness dwells. 
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. 

And when our bottles and all we 
Are filled with immortality, 3° 

Then the blessed paths we '11 travel, 'V 
Strowed with rubies thick as gravel ; 
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors, 
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. 

From thence to heaven's bribeless hall,' ' 
Where no corrupted voices brawl ; 
No conscience molten into gold ; 
No forged accuser bought or sold ; 
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, 
For there Christ is the King's attorney. 
Who pleads for all, without degrees, 41 

And he hath angels but no fees. 

And when the grand twelve million jury 
Of our sins, with direful fury. 
Against our souls black verdicts give, 
Christ pleads his death ; and then we live. 

Be Thou my speaker, taintless pleader ! 
Unblotted lawyer ! true proceeder ! 
Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms. 
Not with a bribed lawyer's palms. 50 

And this is mine eternal plea 
To him that made heaven and earth and sea : 
That, since iny flesh must die so soon, 
And want a head to dine next noon, 
Just at the stroke, when my veins start and 

spread. 
Set on my soul an everlasting head! 56 

Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, 
To tread those blest paths; which before I 
writ. 



A VISION UPON THIS CONCEIT 
OF THE FAERY QUEEN 

Methought I saw the grave where Laura 

lay. 
Within that temple where the vestal flame 
Was wont to burn : and, passing by that 

way, 
To see that buried dust of living fame, 
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtus 

kept, S 

All suddenly I saw the Faery Queen ; 
At whose approach the soul of PetrarcH 

wept. 
And from thenceforth those graces were not 

seen. 
For they this queen attended ; in whose 

stead 
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. 
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to 

bleed, " 

And groans of buried ghosts the heavens 

did pierce : 
Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for 

grief. 
And cu rsed th e_ acce ss of that celest.ial„tiii^,„ 

THE CONCLUSION 

Even such is time, that takes in trust 
Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 

And pays us but with earth and dust; 
Who, in the dark and silent grave, 

When we have wandered all our ways, S 

Shuts up the story of our days : 
/But from this earth, this grave, this dust, ) 

My God shall raise me up, I trust. / 



GEORGE PEELE (i558?-i597?) 

SONG FROM THE ARRAIGNMENT OF 
PARIS 

QiNONE. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 
As fair as any may be; 
The fairest shepherd on our green, 
A love for any lady. 
Paris. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, S 
As fair as any may be; 
Thy love is fair for thee alone. 
And for no other lady. 
CE.N. My love is fair, my love is gay. 

As fresh as bin the flowers in 
May, 10 

And of my love my roundelay. 
My merry, merry roundelay, 
Concludes with Cupid's curse, — 



136 



eoz-abethan lyrics 



' They that do change old love for 
new, 
Pray gods they change for worse!' 
AMBOSiMuE.-They that do change, etc. 
GEn. Fair and fair, etc. 
Par. Fair and fair, etc. 

Thy love is fair, etc. 
CEn. My love can pipe, my love can sing, 
. My love can many a pretty thing, 
And of his lovely praises ring 
My merry, merry roundelays, 

Amen to Cupid's curse, — 
'They that do change,' etc. 25 

Par. They that do change, etc. 
Ambo, Fair and fair, etc. 



HARVESTMEN A-SINGING • 

From THE OLD WIVES' TALE 

All ye that lovely lovers be, 

Pray you for me : 

Lo, here we come a-sowing, a-sowing. 

And sow sweet fruits of love; 

In your sweet hearts well may it prove ! 

Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping, 
To reap our harvest-fruit! 
And thus we pass the year so long. 
And never be we mute. 



ROBERT GREENE (1560?-! 592) 

SONG FROM THE FAREWELL TO 
FOLLY 

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of con- 
tent; 
The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber 
spent ; 
The poor estate scorns fortune's angry 
frown : 

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, 
such bliss, s 

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 

The homely house that harbors quiet rest; 
The cottage that affords no pride nor care ; 
The mean that 'grees with country music 
best; 
The sweet consort of mirth and music's 
fare; 10 

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss: 
A mind content both crown and kingdom 
is. 



PHILOMELA'S ODE 

From PHILOMELA 

Sitting by a river's side, 
Where a silent stream did glide. 
Muse I did of many things 
That the mind in quiet brings. 
I gan think how some men deem 
Gold their god ; and some esteem 
Honor is the chief content 
That to man in life is lent. 
And some others do contend. 
Quiet none like to a friend. 
Others hold there is no wealth 
Compared to a perfect health. 
Some man's mind in quiet stands. 
When he is lord of many lands. 
But I did sigh, and said all this 
Was but a shade of perfect bliss; 
And in my thoughts I did approve, 
Naught so sweet as is true love. 
LoA'e 'twixt lovers passeth these. 
When mouth kisseth and heart 'grees, 
With folded arms and lips meeting. 
Each soul another sweetly greeting; 
For by the breath the soul fleeteth, 
And soul with soul in kissing meeteth. 
If love be so sweet a thing. 
That such happy bliss doth bring, 
Happy is love's sugared thrall, 
But unhappy maidens all, 
Who esteem your virgin blisses 
Sweeter than a wife's sweet kisses. 
No such quiet to the mind 
As true love with kisses kind; 
But if a kiss prove unchaste. 
Then is true love quite disgraced. 
Though love be sweet, learn this of me 
No sweet love but honesty. 



SONG from MENAPHON 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old there's grief enough for 
thee. 
Mother's wag, pretty boy, 
Father's sorrow, father's joy; 
When thy father first did see 3 

Such a boy by him and me, 
He was glad, I was woe, 
Fortune changed made him so. 
When he left his pretty boy 
Last his sorrow, first his joy. 10 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
When thou art old there's grief enough for 
thee. 



ROBERT GREENE 



137 



Streaming tears that never stint, 
Like pearl-drops from a flint, 
Fell by course from his eyes, i5 

That one another's place supplies ; 
Thus he grieved in every part, 
Tears of blood fell from his heart, 
When he left his pretty boy, 
Father's sorrow, father's joy. 20 

Weep not, my vi^anton, smile upon my 

knee, 
When thou art old there's grief enough for 
thee. 
The wanton smiled, father wept. 
Mother cried, baby leapt; 
More he crowed, more he cried, 25 
Nature could not sorrow hide : 
He must go, he must kiss 
Child and mother, baby bless, 
For he left his pretty boy. 
Father's sorrow, father's joy. 30 

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my 

knee, 
When thou art old there's grief enough for 
thee. 



SONG FROM MENAPHON 

Some say Love, 
Foolish Love, 

Doth rule and govern all the gods : 
I say Love, 
Inconstant Love, 5 

Sets men's senses far at odds. 
Some swear Love, 
Smooth-faced Love, 

Is sweetest sweet that men can have : 
I say Love, 1° 

Sour Love, 

Makes virtue yield as beauty's slave. 
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all. 
That forceth wisdom to be folly's thrall. 

Love is sweet, ^s 

Wherein sweet? 

In fading pleasures that do pain. 
Beauty sweet: 
Is that sweet 

That yieldeth sorrow for a gain? 20 
If Love's sweet. 
Herein sweet. 

That minutes' joys are monthly woes : 
'Tis not sweet, 
That is sweet 25 

Nowhere but where repentance grows. 
Then love who list, if beauty be so sour ; 
Labor for me, Love rest in prince's bower. 



THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG 

From THE MOURNING GARMENT 

Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing, 
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king; 

And sweeter too : 
For kings have cares that wait upon a 

crown. 
And cares can make the sweetest love to 
frown. 

Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

His flocks are folded, he comes home at 
night. 

As merry as a king in his delight; ^ 10 
And merrier too: 

For kings bethink them what the state re- 
quire. 

Where shepherds careless carol by the fire. 
Ah then, ah then. 

If country loves such sweet desires do 
gain, 15 

What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 
His cream and curds as doth the king his 

meat ; 

And blither too : 
For kings have often fears when they do 

sup, 20 

Where shepherds dread no poison in their 

cup. 

Ah then, ah then. 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, 25 
As is a king in dalliance with a queen; 

More wanton too : 
For kings have many griefs affects to move, 
Where shepherds have no greater grief than 
love. 

Ah then, ah then, 3° 

If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound, 
As doth the king upon his bed of down; 

More sounder too : 3S 

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to 

spill, 
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their 
fill. 

Ah then, ah then, 



138 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



If country loves such sweet desires do 



gam, 



What lady would not love a shepherd 



Thus with his wife he spends the year, as 

blithe 
As doth the king at every tide or sithe; 

And blither too : 
For kings have wars and broils to take in 

hand 
When shepherds laugh and love upon the 

land. 

Ah then, ah then, 4^ 

If country loves such sweet desires do 

gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd 

swain ? 



ROBERT SOUTHWELL 

(i56i?-iS95) 

THE BURNING BABE 

As I in hoary winter's night stood shiver- 
ing in the snow, 
Surprised I was with sudden heat which 

made my heart to glow ; 
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what 

fire was near, 
A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in 

the air appear, 
Who scorched with exceeding heat such 

floods of tears did shed, s 

As though his floods should quench his 

flames with what his tears were fed; 
* Alas ! ' quoth he, ' but newly born in fiery 

heats I fry, 
Yet none approach to warm their hearts or 

feel my fire but I ! 
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel 

wounding thorns ; 
Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the 

ashes shame and scorns; lo 

The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy 

blows the coals ; 
The metal in this furnace wrought are 

men's defiled souls ; 
For which, as now on fire I am, to work 

them to their good, 
So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in 

my blood : ' 
With this he vanished out of sight, and 

sv/iftly shrunk away, ^5 

And straight I called unto mind that it 

was Chrirlma." day. 



SAMUEL DANIEL (1562-1619) 
SONNETS FROM DELIA 

XIX 

Restore thy treasure, to the golden ore ; 
Yield Cytherea's son those arcs of love : 
Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore; 
And to the orient do thy pearls remove. 
Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory 

white ; S 

To Arabian odors give thy breathing sweet, 
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright ; 
To Thetis give the honor of thy feet. 
Let Venus have the graces she resigned ; 
And thy sweet voice yield to Hermonius' 

spheres : ^° 

But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind 
To Hyrcan tigers and to ruthless bears. 
Yield to the marble thy hard heart again; 
So shalt thou cease to plague and I to 

pain. 

XXIII 

False Hope prolongs my ever certain grief, 
Traitor to me, and faithful to my Love. 
A thousand times it promised me relief, 
Yet never any true effect I prove. 
Oft, when I find in her no truth at all, 5 
I banish her, and blame her treachery: 
Yet, soon again, I must her back recall. 
As one that dies without her company. 
Thus often, as I chase my Hope from me, 
Straightway, she hastes her unto Delia's 

eyes : ^° 

Fed with some pleasing look, there shall she 

be; 
And so sent back. And thus my fortune 

lies. 
Looks feed my Hope, Hope fosters me in 

vain; 
Hopes are unsure, when certain is my pain. 



Oft do I marvel, whether Delia's eyes 

Are eyes, or else two radiant stars that 

shine ? 
For how could Nature ever thus devise 
Of earth, on earth, a substance so divine? 
Stars, sure, they are, whose motions rule 
desires ; 5 

And calm and tempest follow their aspects : 
Their sweet appearing still such power in- 
spires. 
That makes the world admire so strange 

effects. 
Yet whether fixed or wandering stars are 
they, 



MICHAEL DRAYTON 



139 



Whose influence rules the orb of my poor 

heart? 10 

Fixed, sure, they are, but wandering, make 

me stray 
In endless errors, whence I cannot part. 
Stars, then, not eyes, move you, with 

milder view. 
Your sweet aspect on him that honors 

you! 

XXXVIII 

Thou canst not die, whilst any zeal abound 
In feeling hearts, that can conceive these 

lines : 
Though thou, a Laura, hast no Petrarch 

found ; 
In base attire, yet, clearly. Beauty shines. 
And I, though born within a colder clime. 
Do feel mine inward heat as great, I know 

it. 6 

He never had more faith, although more 

rime : 
I love as well, though he could better show 

it. 
But I may add one feather to thy fame, 
To help her flight throughout the fairest 

Isle; 10 

A-nd if my pen could more enlarge thy 

name. 
Then should'st thou live . in an immortal 

style. 
For though that Laura better limned be. 
Suffice, thou shalt be loved as well as she ! 



Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born : 
Relieve my anguish, and restore the light; 
With dark forgetting of my care, return ! 
And let the day be time enough to mourn s 
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn. 
Without the torment of the night's untruth. 
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires. 
To model forth the passions of the mor- 
row; 10 
Never let rising sun approve you liars. 
To add more grief to aggravate my sor- 
row. 
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain; 
And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 



Let others sing of Knights and Paladins 
In aged accents and untimely words ; 
Paint shadows in imaginary lines 
Which well the reach of their high wits 
records • 



But I must sing of thee, and those fair 
eyes s 

Authentic shall my verse in time to come ; 

When yet th' unborn shall say, ' Lo, where 
she lies 

Whose beauty made him speak that else 
was dumb.' 

These are the arcs, the trophies I erect. 

That fortify thy name against old age; 10 

And these thy sacred virtues must pro- 
tect 

Against the dark, and Time's consuming 
rage. 

Though the error of my youth in them ap- 
pear, 

Suffice they show I lived and loved thee 
dear. 



MICHAEL DRAYTON (i 563-1 631) 
SONNETS FROM IDEA 

TO THE, READER OF THESE SONNETS 

Into these loves, who but for passion looks, 
At this first sight, here let him lay them 

by, 
And seek elsewhere in turning other books, 
Which better may his labor satisfy. 
No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my 

breast ; s 

Love from mine eye a tear shall never 

wring ; 
Nor in ' Ah me's ! ' my whining sonnets 

drest ! 
A libertine ! f antasticly I sing ! 
My verse is the true image of my mind. 
Ever in motion, still desiring change; 10 
And as thus, to variety inclined. 
So in all humors sportively I range ! 
My Muse is rightly of the English strain, 
That cannot long one fashion entertain. 

IV * 

Bright Star of Beauty, on whose eyelids sit 
A thousand nymph-like and enamored 

Graces, 
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit, 
Which there in order take their several 

places; 
In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious Love 
Lays down his quiver, which he once did 

bear, 6 

Since he that blessed paradise did prove; 
And leaves his mother's lap, to sport him 

there. 
Let others strive to entertain with words! 
My soul is of a brayer mettle made: 10 



I40 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



I hold that vile, which vulgar wit affords ; 

In me 's that faith which time cannot in- 
vade ! 

Let what I praise be still made good by 
you ! 

Be you most worthy, whilst I am most 
true ! 

IX 

As other men, so I myself, do muse 
Why in this sort I wrest invention so? 
And why these giddy metaphors I use. 
Leaving the path the greater part do go? 
I will resolve you. I am lunatic ! 5 

And ever this in madmen you shall find, 
What they last thought of, when the brain 

grew sick, 
In most distraction, they keep that in 

mind. 
Thus talking idly, in this Bedlam fit. 
Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain ; 
'Tis nine years now, since first I lost my 

wit. 1 1 

Bear with me, then, though troubled be my 

brain 1 
What diet and correction, men distraught. 
Not too far past, may to their wits be 

brought. 

XX 

An evil Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me 

still, 
Wherewith, alas, I have been long possest ; 
Which ceaseth not to attempt me to each 

ill,_ 
Nor give me once, but one poor minute's 

rest. 
In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake; 5 
And when by means to drive it out I try, 
With greater torments then it me doth take, 
And tortures me in most extremity. 
Before my face, it lays down my despairs. 
And hastes me on Unto a sudden death; lo 
Now tempting me to drown myself in tears. 
And then in sighing to give up my breath. 
Thus am I still provoked to every evil, 
By this good-wicked Spirit, sweet Angel- 
Devil. 

XLIV 

Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee. 
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my 

face. 
Where, in the map of all my misery. 
Is modeled out the world of my disgrace; 
Whilst in despite of tyrannizing times, S 
Medea-like, I make thee young again. 



Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing 

rimes. 
And murder'st Virtue with thy coy dis- 
dain ! 
And though in youth my youth untimely 

perish 
To keep thee from oblivion and the grave, 
Ensuing ages yet my rimes shall cherish. 
Where I entombed, my better part shall 
save; is 

And though this earthly body fade and die. 
My name shall mount upon Eternity! 

LXI 

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and 

part ! 
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of 

me! 
And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart. 
That thus so cleanly I myself can free. 
Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our 

vows! 
And when we meet at any time again, 5 
Be it not seen in either of our brows, 
That we one jot of former love retain! 
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest 

breath, 
When, his pulse failing. Passion speechless 

lies; 10 

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of 

death, 
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,— 
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given 

him over. 
From death to life thou might'st him yet 

recover ! 



ODE XI 

TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE 

You brave heroic minds. 
Worthy your country's name, 

That honor still pursue; 

Go and subdue ! 
Whilst loitering hinds 
Lurk here at home with shame. 

Britons, you stay too long; 

Quickly aboard bestow you ! 
And with a merry gale 
Swell your stretched sail, 

With vows as strong 

As the winds that blow you! 

Your course securely steer, 
West-and-by-south forth keep! 



MICHAEL DRAYTON 



141 



Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoals. 

When Eolus scowls, 
You need not fear, 
So absolute the deep. 

And, cheerfully at sea. 
Success you still entice, 

To get the pearl and gold; 

And ours to hold, 
Virginia, 
Earth's only Paradise. 

Where Nature hath in store 
Fowl, venison, and fish; 

And the fruitful'st soil, — 

Without your toil, 
Three harvests more. 
All greater than your wish. 

And the ambitious vine 
Crowns with his purple mass 

The cedar reaching high 

To kiss the sky. 
The cypress, pine, 
And useful sassafras. 

To whom, the Golden Age 
Still Nature's laws doth give: 

Nor other cares attend. 

But them to defend 
From winter's rage. 
That long there doth not live. 

When as the luscious smell 

Of that delicious land, 
Above the seas that flows, 
The clear wind throws. 

Your hearts to swell. 

Approaching the dear strand. 

In kenning of the shore 
(Thanks to God first given!) 

O you, the happiest men, 

Be frolic then ! 
Let cannons roar, 
Frightening the wide heaven! 

And in regions far. 

Such heroes bring ye forth 

As those from whom we came! 

And plant our name 
Under that star 
Not known unto our North! 

And as there plenty grows 
The laurel everywhere, 

Apollo's sacred tree 

You may it see 



25 



35 



40 



45 



50 



55 



60 



A poet's brows 65 

To crown, that may sing there. 

Thy Voyages attend. 

Industrious Hakluyt ! 

Whose reading shall inflame 

Men to seek fame ; 7® 

And much commend 

To after times thy wit. 



ODE XII 

TO THE CAMBRO-BRITONS AND 

THEIR HARP HIS BALLAD 

OF AGINCOURT 

Fair stood the wind for France, 
When we our sails advance ; 
Nor now to prove our chance 

Longer will tarry; 
But putting to the main, 5 

At Caux, the mouth of Seine, 
With all his martial train 

Landed King Harry. 

And taking many a fort, 

Furnished in warlike sort, 10 

Marcheth towards Agincourt 

In happy hour ; 
Skirmishing, day by day. 
With those that stopped his way. 
Where the French general lay i5 

With all his power. 

Which, in his height of pride. 
King Henry to deride. 
His ransom to provide. 

To the King sending; 2« 

Which he neglects the while. 
As from a nation vile. 
Yet, with an angry smile, 

Their fall portending. 



And turning to his men, 
Quoth our brave Henry then : 
' Though they to one be ten 

Be not amazed ! 
Yet have we well begun: 
Battles so bravely won 
Have ever to the sun 

By Fame been raised ! 

'And for myself,' quoth he, 
'This my full rest shall be: 
England ne'er mourn for me. 

Nor more esteem me ! 
Victor I will remain. 



2S 



30 



35 



142 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



Or on this earth lie slain ; 
Never shall she sustain 

Loss to redeem me ! 4° 

' Poitiers and Cressy tell, 

When most their pride did swell, 

Under our swords they fell. 

No less our skill is, 
Than when our Grandsire great, 45 

Claiming the regal seat, 
By many a warlike feat 

Lopped the French lilies.' 

The Duke of York so dread 

The eager vanward led ; 5° 

With the main, Henry sped 

Amongst his henchmen ; 
Exeter had the rear, 
A braver man not there ! 
O Lord, how hot they were 55 

On the false Frenchmen ! 



They now to fight are gone ; 
Armor on armor shone ; 
Drum now to drum did groan : 

To hear, was wonder ; 
That, with the cries they make, 
The very earth did shake ; 
Trumpet to trumpet spake ; 

Thunder to thunder. 



6o 



Well it thine age became, ^s 

O noble Erpingham, 
Which didst the signal aim 

To our hid forces ! 
When, from a meadow by, 
Like a storm suddenly, 7° 

The English archery 

Stuck the French horses. 

With Spanish yew so strong; 

Arrows a cloth-yard long. 

That like to serpents stung, 75 

Piercing the weather. 
None from his fellow starts ; 
But, playing manly parts. 
And like true English hearts, 

Stuck close together. 8o 

When down their bows they threw, 
And forth their bilboes drew. 
And on the French they flew : 

Not one was tardy. 
Arms were from shoulders sent, ^s 
Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
Down the French peasants went : 

Our men were hardy. 



This while our noble King, 

His broad sword brandishing, 9o 

Down the French host did ding. 

As to o'erwhelm it. 
And many a deep wound lent; 
His arms with blood besprent, 
And many a cruel dent 95 

Bruised his helmet. 

Gloucester, that duke so good, 
Next of the royal blood. 
For famous England stood 

With his brave brother. loo 

Clarence, in steel so bright, 
Though but a maiden knight, 
Yet in that furious fight 

Scarce such another ! 

Warwick in blood did wade; los 

Oxford, the foe invade. 
And cruel slaughter made, 

Still as they ran up. 
Suffolk his axe did ply; 
Beaumont and Willoughby "o 

Bare them right doughtily; 

Ferrers, and Fanhope. 

Upon Saint Crispin's Day 

Fought was this noble fray; 

Which Fame did not delay ns 

To England to carry. 
O, when shall English men 
With such acts fill a pen ? 
Or England breed again 

Such a King Harry? i3» 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 
(I 564-1 593) 

HERO AND LEANDER 

From THE FIRST SESTIAD 

On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood. 
In view and opposite two cities stood. 
Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's 

might ; 
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight. 
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair, s 

Whom young Apollo courted for her hair, 
And offered as a dower his burning throne, 
Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon. 
The outside of her garments were of lawn. 
The lining purple silk, with gilt stars 

drawn ; 10 



CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 



143 



Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with 

a grove, 
Where Venus in her naked glory strove 
To please the careless and disdainful eyes 
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies; 
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain. 
Made with the blood of wretched lovers 

slain. 16 

Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath, 
From whence her veil reached to the 

ground beneath ; 
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, 
Whose workmanship both man and beast 

deceives. 20 

Many would praise the sweet smell as she 

past. 
When 'twas the odor which her breath forth 

cast; 
And there, for honey, bees have sought in 

vain. 
And, beat from thence, have lighted there 

again. 
About her neck hung chains of pebble- 
stone, 25 
Which, lightened by her neck, like dia- 
monds shone. 
She ware no gloves ; for neither sun nor 

wind 
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to 

her mind. 
Or warm or cool them, for they took de- 
light 
To play upon those hands, they were so 

white. 30 

Buskins of shells, all silvered, used she, 
And branched with blushing coral to the 

knee; 
Where sparrows perched of hollow pearl 

and gold. 
Such as the world would wonder to behold : 
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid 

fills, 35 

Which as she went, would chirrup through 

the bills. 
Some say. for her the fairest Cupid pined. 
And, looking in her face, was strooken 

blind. 
But this is true ; so like was one the other, 
As he imagined Hero was his mother ; 40 
A.nd oftentimes into her bosom flew, 
About her naked neck his bare arms threw. 
And laid his childish head upon her breast, 
And, with still panting rock, there took his 

rest. 
So lovely- fair was Hero, Venus' nun, 4S 

As Nature wept, thinking she was undone. 
Because she took more from her than she 

left. 
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft; 



Therefore, in sign her treasure suffered 

wrack. 
Since Hero's time hath half the world been 

black. .50 

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young 
(Whose tragedy divine Musaeus sung), 
Dwelt at Abydos ; since him dwelt there 

none 
For whom succeeding times make greater 

moan. 
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn, 
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne. 
Would have allured the venturous youth of 

Greece 57 

To hazard more than for the golden fleece. 
Fair Cynthia wished his arms might be her 

sphere; 
Grief makes her pale, because she moves 

not there. 60 

His body was as straight as Circe's wand ; 
Jove might have sipt out nectar from his 

hand. 
Even as delicious meat is to the taste, 
So was his neck in touching, and surpast 
The white of Pelops' shoulder : I could tell 

ye, 65 

How smooth his breast was, and how white 

his belly; 
And whose immortal fingers did imprint 
That heavenly path with many a curious 

dint 
That runs along his back; but my rude pen 
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men, 
Much less of powerful gods : let it suffice 
That my slack Muse sings of Leander's 

eyes ; 72 

Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his 
That leapt into the water for a kiss 
Of his own shadow, and, despising many, 
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any. 76 
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen. 
Enamored of his beauty had he been. 
His presence made the rudest peasant melt, 
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt ; 
The barbarous Thracian soldier, moved 

with naught, 81 

Was moved with him, and for his favor 

sought. 
Some swore he was a maid in man's attire, 
For in his looks were all that men desire, — 
A pleasant-smiling cheek, a speaking eye, 8s 
A brow for love to banquet royally; 
And such as knew he was a man, would 

say, 
' Leander, thou art made for amorous play ; 
Why art thou not in love, and loved of all? 
Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own 

thrall.' 90 

The men of wealthy Sestos every year, 



144 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



For his sake whom their goddess held so 

dear, 
Rose-cheeked Adonis, kept a solemn feast. 
Thither resorted many a wandering guest 
To meet their loves ; such as had none at 

all, 95 

Came lovers home from this great festival; 
For every street, like to a firmament, 
Glistered with breathing stars, who, where 

they went. 
Frighted the melancholy earth, which 

deemed 
Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seemed loo 
As if another Phaeton had got 
The guidance of the sun's rich chariot. 
But, far above the loveliest, Hero shined. 
And stole away th' enchanted gazer's mind; 
For like sea-nymphs' inveigling harmony, 
So was her beauty to the standers by; io6 
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery 

star 
(When yawning dragons draw her thirling 

car 
From Latmus' mount up to the gloomy sky, 
Where, crowned with blazing light and 

majesty, no 

She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood 
Than she the hearts of those that near her 

stood. 
Even as, when gaudy nymphs pursue the 

chase. 
Wretched Ixion's shaggy-footed race. 
Incensed with savage heat, gallop amain "5 
From steep pine-bearing mountains to the 

plain, 
So ran the people forth to gaze upon her. 
And all that viewed her were enamored on 

her. 
And as, in fury of a dreadful fight. 
Their fellows being slain or put to flight, 
Poor soldiers stand with fear of death 

dead-strooken, , 121 

So at her presence all surprised and tooken. 
Await the sentence of her scornful eyes; 
He whom she favors lives ; the other dies. 
There might you see one sigh ; another 

rage; 12s 

And some, their violent passions to assuage, 
Compile sharp satires ; but, alas, too late ! 
For faithful love will never turn to hate. 
And many, seeing great princes were 

denied. 
Pined as they went, and thinking on her 

died. 130 

On this feast-day — O cursed day and 

hour ! — 



Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her 

tower 
To Venus' temple, where unhappily. 
As after chanced, they did each other 

spy- 
So fair a church as this had Venus none : 
The walls were of discolored jasper-stone, 
Wherein was Proteus carved ; and over- 
head 137 
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread. 
Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus 

hung. 
And with the other wine from grapes out- 
wrung. 140 
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was; 
The town of Sestos called it Venus' glass : 
There might you see the gods in sundry 

shapes. 
Committing heady riots, incest, rapes : 
* * * 

Blood-quaffing Mars, heaving the iron 

net, 145 

Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set : 
Love kindling fire, to burn such towns as 

Troy: 
Silvanus weeping for the lovely boy 
That now is turned into a cypress-tree. 
Under whose shade the wood-gods love 

to be. 150 

And in the midst a silver altar stood : 
There Hero, sacrificing turtles' blood. 
Vailed to the ground, veiling her eyelids 

close; 
And modestly they opened as she rose. 
Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden 

head; iss 

And thus Leander was enamored. 
Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed. 
Till with the fire that from his counte- 
nance blazed 
Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook: 
Such force and virtue hath an amorous 

look. ■ 160 

It lies not in our power to love or hate, 
For will in us is over-ruled by fate. 
When two are stript long ere the course 

begin. 
We wish that one should lose, the other 

win ; jj 

And one especially do we affect 165 

Of two gold ingots, like in each respect : 
The reason no man knows, let it suffice. 
What we , behold is censured by our eyes. 
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: 
Who ever loved, that loved not at first 

sight? 17^ 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



145 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 
(1564-1616) 

From VENUS AND ADONIS 

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
And wakes the morning, from whose silver 

breast 
The sun ariseth in his majesty; 

Who doth the world so glorious behold 5 
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnished 
gold. 

Venus salutes him with this fair good-mor- 
row: 
' O thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
From whom each lamp and shining star 

doth borrow 
The beauteous influence that makes him 
bright, " 

There lives a son that sucked an earthly 

mother, 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to 
other. 

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn. 
And yet she hears no tidings of her love: ^5 
She hearkens for his hounds and for his 
horn : 
Anon she hears them chant it lustily, 
And all in haste' she coasteth to the cry. 

And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her 
face, 20 

Some twine about her thigh to make her 

stay : 
She wildly breaketh from their strict em- 
brace, 
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs 

do ache. 
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some 
brake. 

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay; 

Whereat she starts, like one that spies an 

adder 26 

Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way. 

The fear whereof doth make him shake and 

shudder; 

Even so the timorous yelping of the 

hounds 
Appals her senses and her spirit con- 
founds. 30 

For now she knows it is no gentle cliase. 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion 
proud. 



Because the cry remaineth in one place. 
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud: 
Finding their enemy to be so curst, 35 
They all strain courtesy who shall cope 
him first. 

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
Through which it enters to surprise her 

heart ; 
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear. 
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feel- 
ing part : 40 
Like soldiers, when their captain once 

doth yield. 
They basely fly and dare not stay the 
field. 

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 
Till, cheering up her senses all dismayed. 
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy, 4S 
And childish error, that they are afraid ; 
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear 

no more : — 
And with that word she spied the hunted 
boar, 

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with 

red. 
Like milk and blood being mingled both to- 
gether, 50 
A second fear through all her sinews 

spread. 
Which madly hurries her she knows not 
whither : 
This way she runs, and now she will no 

further. 
But back retires to rate the boar for 
murther. 

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand 
ways : ss 

She treads the path that she untreads again ; 
Her more than haste is mated with delays. 
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 
Full of respects, yet naught at all re- 
specting ; 
In hand with all things, naught at all 
effecting. 60 

Here kenneled in a brake she finds a 

hound, 
And asks the weary catitiff for his master. 
And there another licking of his wound, 
' Gainst venomed sores the only sovereign 
plaster ; 
And here she meets another sadly scowl- 
ing ^5 
To whom she speaks, and he replies witli 
howling. 



146 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



When he hath ceased his ill-resounding 

noise, 
Another flap-mouthed mourner, black and 

grim. 
Against the welkin volleys out his voice, 
Another and another answer him, 7° 

Clapping their proud tails to the ground 

below, 
Shaking their scratched ears, bleeding as 
they go. 

Look, how the world's poor people are 

amazed 
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have 
gazed, 75 

Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 
So she at these sad signs draws up her 

breath 
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 

'Hard-favored tyrant, ugly, meager, lean, 
Hateful divorce of love,' — thus chides she 
Death,— So 

'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what 

dost thou mean 
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath. 
Who when he lived, his breath and 

beauty set 
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet? 

'li he be dead, — O no, it cannot be, 8s 
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at 

it:— 
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see, 
But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart 
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an in- 
fant's heart. 9o 

•Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had 

spoke. 
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his 

power. 
The Destinies will curse thee for this 

stroke ; 
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a 
flower : 
Love's golden arrow at him should have 
fled, 95 

And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him 
dead. 

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st 

such weeping? 
What may a heavy groan advantage thee? 
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to 



Now Nature cares not for thy mortal 

vigor, 
Since her best work is ruined with thy 



Here overcome, as one full of despair. 
She vailed her eyelids, who, like sluices, 

stopt 
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks, 
fair 105 

In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt ; 
But through the flood-gates breaks the 

silver rain. 
And with his strong course opens them 
again. 

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and 

borrow ! 
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye ; 
Both crystals, where they viewed each 

other's sorrow. 
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to 
dry; "^ 

But like a stormy day, now wind, now 

rain. 
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them 
wet again. 

Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
As striving who should best become her 
grief; "^ 

All entertained, each passion labors so, 
That every present sorrow seemeth chief. 
But none is best: then join they all to- 
gether, 
Like many clouds consulting for foul 
weather. ^^o 

By this, far off she hears some huntsman 

hallo ; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so 

well : 
The dire imagination she did follow 
This sound of hope doth labor to expel ; 
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, '^s 
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
Being prisoned in her eye like pearls in 

glass ; 
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside. 
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it 
should pass, '^o 

To wash the foul face of the sluttish 

ground. 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth 
drowned. 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



147 



O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
Thy v^eal and woe are both of them ex- 
tremes; 135 
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous : 
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts un- 
likely, 
In likely thoughts the other kills thee 
quickly. 

Now she unweaves the web that she hath 

wrought ; 
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame; 
It was not she that called him all to naught : 
Now she adds honors to his hateful name; 
She clepes him king of graves and grave 
for kings, 143 

Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 

* No, no,' quoth she, ' sweet Death, I did 
but jest; 14s 

Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear 
When-as I met the boar, that bloody beast, 
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
Then, gentle shadow, — truth I must con- 
fess, — 
I railed on thee, fearing my love's de- 
cease. 150 

"Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my 

tongue ; 
Be wreaked on him, invisible commander ; 
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee 

wrong; 
I did but act, he's author of thy slander; 
Grief hath two tongues, and never 
woman yet 155 

Could rule them both without ten women's 
wit' 

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive, 
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 
And that his beauty may the better thrive. 
With Death she humbly doth insinuate; 160 
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and 

stories ; 
His victories, his triumphs, and his 
glories. 

' O Jove,' quoth she, ' how much a fool was 

I 
To be of such a weak and silly mind 
To wail his death who lives and must not 
die i6s 

Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
For he being dead, with him is beauty 

slain. 
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes 
agaic 



' Fie, fie, fond love, thou art as full of fear 

As one with treasure laden, hemmed with 

thieves; 170 

Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 

Thy coward heart with false bethinking 

grieves.' 

Even at this word she hears a merry 

horn. 
Whereat she leaps that was but late for- 
lorn. 

As falcon to the lure, away she flies; 175 
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so 

light ; 
And in her haste unfortunately spies 
The foul boar's conquest on her fair de- 
light ; 
Which seen, her eyes, as murdered with 

the view, 
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves 
withdrew; 180 

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being 

hit. 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with 

pain. 
And there, all smothered up, in shade doth 

sit. 
Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
Into the deep dark cabins of her head : 186 

Where they resign their office and their 

light _ 

To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 

Who bids them still consort with ugly night. 

And never wound the heart with looks 

again ; 190 

Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 

By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, 

Whereat each tributary subject quakes; 
As when the wind, imprisoned in the 

ground. 
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation 
shakes, 195 

Which with cold terror doth men's minds 
confound. 
This mutiny each part doth so surprise 
That from their dark beds once more 
leap her eyes ; 

And, being opened, threw unwilling light 
Upon the wide wound that the boar had 

trenched 200 

In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, 

was drenched. 



148 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, 

or weed. 
But stole his blood and seemed with him 

to bleed. 204 

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head 
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth 
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead 
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to 

bow; 
Her eyes are mad that they have wept 
till now. 210 

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly. 
That her sight dazzling makes the wound 

seem three; 
And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 
That makes more gashes where no breach 
should be: 
His face seems twain, each several limb 
is doubled; 215 

For oft the eye mistakes, the brain be- 
ing troubled. 

' My tongue cannot express my grief for 

one, 
And yet,' quoth she, ' behold two Adons 

dead ! 
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears 

gone, 
Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to 
lead : 220 

Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' 

red fire ! 
So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 

* Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou 

lost ! 
What face remains alive that's worth the 

viewing? 

Whose tongue is music now? what canst 

thou boast 225 

Of things long since, or anything ensuing? 

The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh 

and trim; 
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with 
him. 

' Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature 

wear ! 
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss 
you : 230 

Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth 
hiss you: 
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp 
at 



Lurked like two thieves, to rob him of 
his fair. 

' And therefore would he put his bonnet on. 

Under whose brim the gaudy sun would 

peep; 236 

The wind would blow it off and, being 

gone. 
Play with his locks : then would Adonis 
weep ; 
And straight, in pity of his tender years. 
They both would strive who first should 
dry his tears. 240 

' To see his face the lion walked along 
Behind some hedge, because he would not 

fear him ; 
To recreate himself when he hath sung, 
The tiger would be tame and gently hear 
him ; 
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his 
prey 245 

And never fright the silly lamb that day. 

' When he beheld his shadow in the brook. 
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 
When he was by, the birds such pleasure 

took. 
That some would sing, some other in their 
bills 250 

Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red 

cherries ; 
He fed them with his sight, they him 
with berries. 

' But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted 

boar. 
Whose downward eye still looketh for a 

grave. 
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ; 
Witness the entertainment that he gave : 256 
If he did see his face, why then I know 
He thought to kiss him, and hath killed 
him so. 

' 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain : 
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear. 
Who did not whet his teeth at him again, 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him 
there ; 262 

And nuzzling in his flank, the loving 

swine 
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft 
groin. 

' Had I been toothed like him, I must con- 
fess, 26s 

With kissing him I should have killed him 
first: 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



149 



But he is dead, and never did he bless 

My youth with his ; the more am I accurst.' 

With this, she falleth in the place she 

stood, 

And stains her face with his congealed 
blood. 270 

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale ; 
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale. 
As if they heard the woeful words she told; 
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his 
eyes, 275 

Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in dark- 
ness lies; 

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 
A thousand times, and now no more re- 
flect; 
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excelled. 
And every beauty robbed of his effect : 280 
' Wonder of time,' quoth she, ' this is my 

spite, 
That, thou being dead, the day should yet 
be light. 

* Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy : 
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend : 
It shall be waited on with jealousy, 285 

Find sweet beginning, but unsavory end, 
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low. 
That all love's pleasure shall not match 
his woe. 

*It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, 
JSud and be blasted in a breathing-while ; 290 
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstrawed 
With sweets that shall the truest sight be- 
guile : 
The strongest body shall it make most 

weak. 
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool 
to speak. 

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot 295 
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with 
treasures ; 
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild. 
Make the young old, the old become a 
child. 300 

' It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ; 

It shall not fear where it should most mis- 
trust ; 

It shall be merciful and too severe. 

And most deceiving when it seems most 
just; 



Perverse it shall be where it shows most 

toward ; 30s 

Put fear to valor, courage to the coward. 

' It shall be cause of war and dire events. 
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire ; 
Subject and servile to all discontents. 
As dry combustions matter is to fire: 310 
Sith in his prime Death doth my love 

destroy, 
They that love best their loves shall not 
enjoy.' 

By this, the boy that by her side lay killed 

Was melted like a vapor from her sight, 

And in his blood that on the ground lay 

spilled, 315 

A purple flower sprung up, chequered with 

white. 

Resembling well his pale cheeks and the 

blood 
Which in round drops upon their white- 
ness stood. 

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower 

to smell. 
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath, 320 
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell. 
Since he himself is reft from her by death: 
She crops the stalk, and in the breach ap- 
pears 
Green dropping sap, which she compares 
to tears. 

' Poor flower,' quoth she, ' this was thy 
father's guise — 32s 

Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire — 
For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
To grow unto himself was his desire. 
And so 'tis thine ; but know, it is as good 
To wither in my breast as in his blood. 

' Here was thy father's bed, here in my 

breast; 331 

Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy 

right : 
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and 

night ; 
There shall not be one minute in an 

hour 335 

Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's 

flower.' 

Thus weary of the world, away she hies. 
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift 

aid 
Their mistress mounted through the empty 

skies 



150 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



In her light chariot quickly is conveyed; 34o 
Holding their course to Paphos, where 

their queen 
Means to immure herself and not be seen. 



SONNETS 



When I do count the clock that tells the 

time, 
And see the brave day sunk in hideous 

night; 
When I behold the violet past prime, 
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; 
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 5 
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd. 
And summer's green all girded up in 

sheaves 
Borne on the bier with white and bristly 

beard, 
Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
That thou among the wastes of time must 

go, 10 

Since sweets and beauties do themselves 

forsake 
And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make 

defence 
Save breed, to brave him when he takes 

thee hence. 



XV 

When I consider every thing that grows 
Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
That this huge stage presenteth naught but 

shows 
Whereon the stars in secret influence com- 
ment; 
When I perceive that men as plants in- 
crease, s 
Cheered and checked even by the self-same 

sky. 
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height de- 
crease. 
And wear their brave state out of memory; 
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
Sets you most rich in youth before my 
sight, 1° 

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, 
To change your day of youth to sullied 

night ; 
And all in war with Time for love of you, 
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of 

May, 
And summer's lease hath all too short a 

date : 
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
And often is his gold complexion dimmed; 
And every fair from fair sometime de- 
clines, 7 
By chance or nature's changing course un- 

trimmed ;' 
But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou 

owest; 10 

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his. 

shade. 
When in eternal lines to time thou growest : 
So long as men can breathe or eyes can 

see. 
So long lives this and this gives life to 

thee. 



Let those who are in favor with their stars 
Of public honor and proud titles boast. 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph 

bars, 
Unlooked for joy in that I Tionor most. 
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves 

spread s 

But as the marigold at the sun's eye, 
And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
After a thousand victories once foiled, lo 
Is from the book of honor razed quite. 
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled : 
Then happy I, that love and am beloved 
Where I may not remove nor be removed. 



/ 



When in disgrace with fortune and men's 

eyes, 
I all alone beweep my outcast state 
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless 

cries 
And look upon myself and curse my fate, 
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
Featured like him, like him with friends 

possessed, ^ 

Desiring this man's art and that man's 

scope, 
With what I most enjoy contented least; 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



151 



Yet in these thoughts myself almost de- 
spising, 
Haply I think on thee, and then my state, 
Like to the lark at break of day arising " 
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's 

gate; 
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth 

brings 
That then I scorn to change my state with 
kings. 



V^V^hen 



to the sessions of sweet silent 
thought 
I summon up remembrance of things past, 
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
And with old woes new wail my dear time's 

waste : 
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 
For precious friends hid in death's dateless 

night. 
And weep afresh love's long since can- 
celed woe, 
And moan the expense of many a vanished 

sight : 
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone. 
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 1° 
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. 
Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend. 
All losses are restored and sorrows end. 



Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign 

eye. 
Kissing with golden face the meadows 

green. 
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ; 
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 5 
With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : 
Even so my sun one early morn did shine 
With all-triumphant splendor on my brow ; 
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine ; 
The region cloud hath masked him from me 

now. 12 

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's 

sun staineth. 

LIV 

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous 

seem 
By that sweet orjiament which truth doth 

give! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 



For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 6 
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
When summer's breath their masked buds 

discloses ; 
But, for their virtue only is their show. 
They live unwooed and unrespected fade, 10 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors 

made : 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
When that shall fade, my verse distills your 

truth. 



Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime; 
But you shall shine more bright in these 

contents 
Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish 

time. 
When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 5 
And broils root out the work of masonry, 
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire 

shall burn 
The living record of your memory. 
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still 

find room 10 

Even in the eyes of all posterity 
That wear this world out to the ending 

doom. 
So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 

LX 

Like as the waves make towards the 

pebbled shore, 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes 

before, 
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
Nativity, once in the main of light, s 

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being 

crowned, 
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
And Time that gave doth now his gift 

confound. 
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow. 
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, n 
And nothing stands but for his scythe to 

mow : 
And yet to times in hope my verse shall 

stand, 
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 



152 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



When I have seen by Time's fell hand de- 
faced 
The rich proud cost of outworn buried 

age; 
When sometime lofty towers I see down- 
razed 
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain S 
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
Increasing store with loss and loss with 

store; 
When I have seen such interchange of state, 
Or state itself confounded to decay; lo 

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, 
That Time will come and take my love 

away. 
This thought is as a death, which cannot 

choose 
But weep to have that which it fears to 
lose. 



Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor bound- 
less sea. 

But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, 

How with this rage shall beauty hold a 
plea. 

Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 

O, how shall summer's honey breath hold 
out S 

Against the wreckful siege of battering 
days. 

When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 

Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time de- 
cays? 

O fearful meditation ! where, alack, 

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest 
lie hid? lo 

Or what strong hand can hold his swift 
foot back? 

Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 

O, none, unless this miracle have might. 

That in black ink my love may still shine 
bright. 

LXVI 

Tired with all these, for restful death I 

cry, — 
As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity. 
And purest faith unhappily forsworn. 
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, s 
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
And strength by limping sway disabled. 
And art made tongue-tied by authority, 



And folly doctor-like controlling skill, if 
And simple truth miscalled simplicity. 
And captive good attending captain ill : 
Tired with all these, from these would I 

be gone. 
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 

LXXI 

No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surley sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with vilest worms to 

dwell : 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 5 
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be 

forgot 
If thinking on me then should make you 

woe. 
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name re- 
hearse, II 
But let your love even with my life decay. 
Lest the wise world should look into your 

moan 
And mock you with me after I am gone. 

LXXIII 

That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do 

hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the 

cold. 
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet 

birds sang. 
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
As after sunset fadeth in the west, 6 

Which by and by black night doth take 

away. 
Death's second self, that seals up all in 

rest. 
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire 
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, lo 
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
Consumed with that which it was nourished 

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love 

more strong, 
To love that well which thou must leave 

ere long. 

LXXVI 

Why is my verse so barren of new pride. 
So far from variation or quick change? 
Why with the time do I not glance aside 
To new-found methods and to compounds 
stran!?e ? 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



153 



Why write I still all one, ever the same, 5 
And keep invention in a noted weed, 
That every word doth almost tell my name, 
Showing their birth and where they did 

proceed? 
O, know, sweet love, I always write of 

you. 
And you and love are still my argument; 10 
So all my best is dressing old words new, 
Spending again what is already spent : 
For as the sun is daily new and old, 
So is my love still telling what is told. 



How like a winter hath my absence been 
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days 

seen ! 
What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
And yet this time removed was summer's 
time, 5 

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
Like widowed wombs after their lord's de- 
cease : 
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me 
But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit; 
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
And, thou away, the very birds are mute; 12 
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's 
near. 

XCVIII 

From you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied April dressed in all his 

trim 
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with 

him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet 
smell 5 

Of different flowers in odor and in hue 
Could make me any summer's story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where 

they grew; 
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white. 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of de- 
light, II 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, 
As with your shadow, I with these did play. 

xcix 
The forward violet thus did I chide: 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy 
sweet that smells. 



li not from my love's breath? The purple 

pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion 

dwells 
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly 

dyed. s 

The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair. 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand. 
One blushing shame, another white despair; 
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of 

both 10 

And to his robbery had annexed thy breath ; 
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see 
But sweet or color it had stol'n from thee. 

CIV 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
For as you were when first your eye I eyed. 
Such seems your beauty still. Three win- 
ters cold 
Have from the forests shook three sum- 
mers' pride, 
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn 
turned 5 

In process of the seasons have I seen. 
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes 

burned 
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are 

green. 
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived ; 
So your sweet hue, which methinks still 
doth stand, n 

Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived : 
For fear of which, hear this, thou age un- 
bred : 
Ere you were born was beauty's summer 
dead. 

•CVI 

When in the chronicle of wasted time 
I see descriptions of the fairest wights. 
And beauty making beautiful old rime 
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights. 
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's 
best, s 

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
I see their antique pen would have ex- 
pressed 
Even such a beauty as you master now. 
So ail their praises are but prophecies 
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 10 
And, for they looked but with divining 

eyes, 
They had not skill enough your worth to 
sing: 



154 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



For we, which now behold these present 

days, 
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to 

praise. 

CVII 

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming on things to 

come, 
Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured 
And the sad augurs mock their own pre- 
sage ; 6 
Incertainties now crown themselves assured 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
Now with the drops of this most balmy 

time 
My love looks fresh, and Death to me sub- 
scribes, 10 
Since, spite of him, I '11 live in this poor 

rime. 
While he insults o'er dull and speechless 

tribes : 
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass 
are spent. 

cix 

O, never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seemed my flame to qual- 

ify. 
As easy might I from myself depart 
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth 

lie: 
That is my home of love : if I have ranged, 
Like him that travels I return again, 6 

Just to the time, not with the time ex- 
changed, 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe, though in my nature reigned 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stained, 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
For nothing this wide universe I call, i3 
Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 



Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there 
And made myself a motley to the view. 
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what 

is most dear. 
Made old ofifences of aflfections new ; 
Most true it is that I have looked on truth 
Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 6 
These blenches gave my heart another 

youth, 
And worse essays proved thee my best of 

love. 



Now all is done, have what shall have no 

end: 
Mine appetite I never more will grind lo 
On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
A god in love, to whom I am confined. 
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the 

best, 
Even to thy pure and most most loving 

breast. 

CXI 

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chidcj 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
That did not better for my life provide 
Than public means which public manners 

breeds 
Thence comes it that my name receives a 
brand, 5 

And almost thence my nature is subdued 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
Pity me then and wish I were renewed ; 
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infec- 
tion ; 10 
No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye 
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 



Vr 



CXVI 



Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments. Love is not love 
Which alters when it alteration finds. 
Or bends with the remover to remove : 
O, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark s 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
It is the star to every wandering bark. 
Whose worth 's unknown, although his 

height be taken. 
Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips 

and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
Love alters not with his brief hours and 

weeks, ^ ' 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
If this be error and upon me proved, 
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

cxix 
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within. 
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears. 
Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
What wretched errors hath my heart com- 
mitted, 
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed 

never ! 
How have mine eyes out of their spheres 
been fitte<i 



WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 



155 



In the distraction* of this madding fever! 

benefit of ill ! now I find true 

That better is by evil still made better ; 1° 
And ruined love, when it is built anew, 
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far 

greater. 
So I return rebuked to my content, 
And gain by ills thrice more than I have 

spent. 

ex XVIII 

How oft, when thou, my music, music 

play'st, 
Upon that blessed wood whose motion 

sounds 
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently 

sway'st 
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap 5 
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
Whilst my poor lips, which should that har- 
vest reap, 
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing 

stand I 
To be so tickled, they would change their 

state 
And situation with those dancing chips, 1° 
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle 

gait, 
Making dead wood more blest than living 

lips. 
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this. 
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 

cxxx 
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; 
Coral is far more red than her lips' red ; 
If snow be white, why then her breasts are 

dun ; 
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her 

head. 

1 have seen roses damasked, red and white, 
But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 6 
And in some perfumes is there more de- 
light 

Than in the breath that from my mistress 

reeks. 
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know 
That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 
I grant I never saw a goddess go; 'o 

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the 

ground : 
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare 
As any she belied with false compare. 

CXLVI 

Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth. 
Thrall to these rebel powers that thee 
array, 



Why dost thou pine within and suffer 

dearth. 
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 7 
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? 
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss. 
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 10 
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; 
Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on 

men. 
And Death once dead, there 's no more 

dying then. 



SONGS FROM THE PLAYS 
From LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST 

When icicles hang by the wall, 

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
And Tom bears logs into the hall. 

And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
When blood is nipped and ways be foul, 5 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
■ Tu-whit, tu-who ! ' a merry note. 
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all aloud the wind doth blow. 

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 10 
And birds sit brooding in the snow. 

And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl. 
Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
'Tu-whit, tu-who!' a merry note, 15 

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot 



From TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 

Who is Silvia? what is she, ^ 

That all our swains commend her? 

Holy, fair, and wise is she; 
The heaven such grace did lend her, 

That she might admired be. S 

Is she kind as she is fair? 

For beauty lives with kindness. 
Love doth to her eyes repair 

To help him of his blindness. 
And, being helped, inhabits there. 1° 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 

That Silvia is excelling; 
She excels each mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
To her let us garlands bring. iP. 



156 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



From THE MERCHANT OF VENICE 

Tell me, where is fancy bi'ed, 
Or in the heart, or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 

Reply, reply. 
It is engendered in the eyes, 5 

With gazing fed; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies: 
Let us all ring fancy's knell; 
I '11 begin it, — Ding-dong, bell. 

Ding, dong, bell. ^° 

From AS YOU LIKE IT 

Under the greenwood tree 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither! come hither! come hither! s 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun 
And loves to live i' the sun, 1° 

Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither! come hither! come hither! 
Here shall he see 

No enemy ^^ 

But winter and rough weather. 

From AS YOU LIKE IT 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind! 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen, 
Because thou art not seen, s 

Although thy breath be rude. 

Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green 

holly: 
Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
mere folly: 

Then, heigh ho, the holly! 

This life is most jolly. i° 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky! 
That dost not bite so nigh 

As benefits forgot; 
Though thou the waters warp. 
Thy sting is not so sharp is 

As friend remembered not. 

Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho ! etc. 

From MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more! 
Men were deceivers ever, ^ 



One foot in sea and one on shore. 
To one thing constant never : 

Then sigh not so, but let them go, 5 
And be you blithe and bonny, 

Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into Hey nonny, nonny! 

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe 

Of dumps so dull and heavy! lo 

The fraud of men was ever so. 

Since summer first was leafy: 
Then sigh not so, but let them go, 

And be you blithe and bonny, 
Converting all your sounds of woe '5 

Into Hey nonny, nonny! 

From TWELFTH NIGHT 

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
O, stay and hear ; your true love 's coming. 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting. 
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 5 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What 's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty; ^o 

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty. 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 

From MEASURE FOR MEASURE 

Take, O, take those lips away, 

That so sweetly were forsworn; 
And those eyes, the break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn: 
But my kisses bring again, S 

Bring again; 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain. 

Sealed in vain! 

From CYMBELINE 

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 

And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies ; 

And winking Mary-buds begin i 

To ope their golden eyes : 
With every thing that pretty is. 

My lady sweet, arise! 
Arise, arise! 

From CYMBELINE 

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages; 

Thou thy worldly task hast done. 
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: 



ENGLAND'S HELICON 



157 



IS 



Golden lads and girls all must, 
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

Fear no more the frown o' th' great; 

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
Care no more to clothe and eat; 

To thee the reed is as the oak: 
The Scepter, Learning, Physic, must 
All follow this, and come to dust. 

Fear no more the lightning-fiash. 
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 

Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Thou hast finished joy and moan: 

All lovers young, all lovers must 

Consign to thee, and come to dust. 

No exorciser harm thee ! 

Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 20 

Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 

Nothing ill come near thee! 
Quiet consummation have; 
And renowned be thy grave! 

From THE TEMPEST 
ARIEL'S SONG 

Full fathom five thy father lies : 
Of his bones are coral made; 

Those are pearls that were his eyes ; 
Nothing of him that doth fade 

But doth suffer a sea-change s 

Into something rich and strange. 

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 

Ding-dong ! 

Hark I now I hear them, — Ding-dong, bell ! 



ENGLAND'S HELICON (1600) 

PHYLLIDA AND CORYDON 

In the merry month of May, 

In a morn by break of day, 

Forth I walked by the wood-side, 

When as May was in her pride : 

There I spied all alone, 5 

Phyllida and Corydon. 

Much ado there was, God wot ! 

He would love and she would not. 

She said, never man was true; 

He said, none was false to you. 1° 

He said, he had loved her long; 

She said, lt)ve should have no wrong. 

Corydon would kiss her then ; 

She said, maids must kiss no men, 

Till they did for good and all; is 

Then she made the shepherd call 

All the heavens to witness truth : 

Never loved a truer youth. 



Thus with many a pretty oath, 

Yea and nay, and faith and troth, 20 

Such as silly shepherds use 

When they will not love abuse. 

Love which had been long deluded, 

Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 

And Phyllida, with garlands gay, 25 

Was made the Lady of the May. 

N. Breton 

AS IT FELL UPON A DAY 

As it fell upon a day. 

In the merry month of May, 

Sitting in a pleasant shade. 

Which a group of myrtles made, 

Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 5 

Trees did grow and plants did spring. 

Everything did banish moan. 

Save the nightingale alone; 

She, poor bird, as all forlorn. 

Leaned her breast against a thorn, 10 

And there sung the dolefuU'st dity. 

That to hear it was great pity. 

' Fie, fie, fie ! ' now would she cry ; 

' Teru, teru ! ' by-and-by. 

That to hear her so complain ^S 

Scarce I could from tears refrain; 

For her griefs so lively shown 

Made me think upon mine own. 

Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain. 

None takes pity on thy pain. 20 

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 

King Pandion he is dead. 

All thy friends are lapped in lead; 

All thy fellow birds do sing, 23 

Careless of thy sorrowing; 

Even so, poor bird, like thee, 

None alive will pity me. 

Ignoto 

TO COLIN CLOUT 

Beauty sat bathing in a spring, 

Where fairest shades did hide her ; 
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 

The cool streams ran beside her. 
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye, 5 

To see what was forbidden. 
But better memory said, fie : 

So, vain desire was chidden. 

Hey nonny, nonny, etc. 

Into a slumber then I fell, 10 

When fond Imagination 
Seemed to see, but could not tell, 

Her feature or her fashion. 
But even as babes in dreams do smile. 

And sometimes fall a-weeping, 15 



158 



ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 



So I awaked, as wise this while 
As when I fell a-sleeping. 
Hey nonny, nonny, etc. 

Shepherd Tony 



HAPPY SHEPHERDS, SIT AND SEE 

Happy shepherds, sit and see. 
With joy. 

The peerless wight 
For whose sake Pan keeps from ye 

Annoy, 5 

And gives delight, 
Blessing this pleasant spring. 
Her praises must I sing; 
List, you swains, list to me. 
The whiles your flocks feeding be. lo 



First, her brow a beauteous globe 
I deem. 

And golden hair ; 
And her cheek Aurora's robe 
Doth seem. 

But far more fair. 
Her eyes like stars are bright, 
And dazzle with their light; 
Rubies her lips to see, 
But to taste nectar they be. 



Orient pearls her teeth, her smile 
Doth link 

The Graces three ; 
Her white neck doth eyes beguile 
To think 

It ivory. 
Alas ! her lily hand 
How it doth me command! 
Softer silk none can be. 
And whiter milk none can see. 

Circe's wand is not so straight 
As is 

Her body small ; 
But two pillars bear the weight 
Of this 

Majestic hall. 
Those be, I you assure, 
Of alabaster pure. 
Polished fine in each part; 
Ne'er Nature yet showed like art. 

How shall I her pretty tread 
Express, 
When she doth walk? 
Scarce she does the primrose head 
Depress, 
Or tender stalk 
Of blue-veined violets. 



IS 



25 



35 



45 



Whereon her foot she sets. 
Virtuous she is, for we find 
In body fair beauteous mind. so 

Live fair Amargana still 
Extolled 
In all my rime; 
Hand want art, when I want will 

T ' unfold 55 

Her worth divine. 
But now my muse doth rest, 
Despair closed in my breast. 
Of the valor I sing; 
Weak faith that no hope doth 
bring. 6o 

W. H. 



THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION 
OF HIS NYMPH 

What shepherd can express 
The favor of her face. 
To whom in this distress 
I do appeal for grace? 

A thousand Cupids fly S 

About her gentle eye. 

From which each throws a dart 

That kindleth soft sweet fire 

Within my sighing heart. 

Possessed by desire ; *•> 

No sweeter life I try 

Than in her love to die. 

The lily in the field. 

That glories in his white, 

For pureness now must yield, i* 

And render up his right ; 

Heaven pictured in her face 
Doth promise joy and grace. 

Fair Cynthia's silver light. 

That beats on running streams, ^o 

Compares not with her white. 

Whose hairs are all sunbeams. 

So bright my nymph doth shine 

As day unto my eyne. 

With this there is a red, 25 

Exceeds the damask-rose, 
Which in her cheeks is spread. 
Where every favor grows ; 

In sky there is no star. 

But she surmounts it far. . 3° 

When Phoebus from the bed 
Of Thetis doth arise. 
The morning blushing red, 
In fair carnation-wise. 

He shows in my nymph's face, 35 

As queen of every grace. 



ENGLAND'S HELICON 



'59 



This pleasant lily white, 

This taint of roseate red, 

This Cynthia's silver light. 

This sweet fair Dea spread, 40 

These sunbeams in mine eye. 

These beauties make me die. 

Earl of Oxford 

THE HERDMAN'S HAPPY LIFE 

What pleasure have great princes 
More dainty to their choice 

Than herdmen wild, who careless 
In quiet life rejoice? 

And fortune's fate not fearing, 5 

Sing sweet in summer morning. 

Their dealings plain and rightful, 

Are void of all deceit ; 
They never know how spiteful 

It is to kneel and wait 10 

On favorite presumptuous. 
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. 

All day their flocks each tendeth. 
At night they take their rest, 

More quiet than who sendeth is 

His ship into the east, 

Where gold and pearl are plenty, 

But getting very dainty. 

For lawyers and their pleading. 

They 'steem it not a straw ; 20 

They think that honest meaning. 
Is of itself a law ; 

Where conscience judgeth plainly, 

They spend no money vainly. 

Oh, happy who thus liveth ! 25 

Not caring much for gold ; 

With clothing which sufficeth. 
To keep him from the cold. 

Though poor and plain his diet. 

Yet merry it is and quiet. 30 

Out of Mr. Bird's Set Songs 

A NYMPH'S DISDAIN OF LOVE 

' Hey, down, a down ! ' did Dian sing. 
Amongst her virgins sitting; 

* Than love there is no vainer thing. 
For maidens most unfitting.' 

And so think I, with a down, down, derry. 

When women knew no woe, 6 

But lived themselves to please, 

Men's feigning guiles they did not know. 
The ground of their disease. 

Unborn was false suspect, 10 

No thought of jealousy ; 

From wanton toys and fond affect, 



The virgin's life was free. 
' Hey, down, a down ! ' did Dian sing, etc. 

At length men used charms, is 

To which what maids gave ear. 
Embracing gladly endless harms. 

Anon enthralled were. 
Thus women welcomed woe, 

Disguised in name of love, 20. 

A jealous hell, painted show: 

So shall they find that prove. 
' Hey, down, a dovyn ! ' did Dian sing. 

Amongst her virgins sitting; 
' Than love there is no vainer thing, 25 

For maidens most unfitting.' 
And so think I, with a down, down, derry. 

Ignoto 

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 

Love in my bosom like a bee, 

Doth suck his sweet; 
Now with his wings he plays with me. 

Now with his feet. 
Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 5 

His bed amidst my tender breast; 
My kisses are his daily feast, 
And yet he robs me of my rest. 

Ah, wanton, will ye? 

And if I sleep, then percheth he, 10 

With pretty slight, 
And makes his pillow of my knee. 

The livelong night. 
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; 
He music plays if I but sing; '5 

He lends me every lovely thing; 
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. 

Whist, wanton, still ye ! 

Else I with roses every day 

Will whip ye hence, 20 

And bind ye, when ye long to play. 

For your offence. 
I '11 shut my eyes to keep ye in, 
I '11 make you fast it for your sin, 
I '11 count your power not worth a pin, 25 
Alas ! what hereby shall I win 

If he gainsay me? 

What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod? 
He will repay me with annoy, 3° 

Because a god. 
Then sit thou safely on my knee, 
And let thy bower my bosom be; 
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee. 
O Cupid ! so thou pity me, 35 

Spare not, but play thee. 

Thomas Lodge 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 

Among the Ij'rics of the earlier part of the seventeenth century, one discerns, somewhat 
clearly, at least three poetical manners, which emanated, respectively, from Edmund Spenser, 
Ben Jonson, and John Donne. The sensuous beauty, playful imagery, and fluent melody of 
Spenser are clearly present in the poems of William Browne and George Wither. The fine 
finish, poise, and chastened sweetness of Jonson are a refining influence in the shorter lyrics 
of Robert Herrick, Thomas Carew, John Suckling, and Richard Lovelace. In John Donne, 
incisive and subtle thinking finds fantastic, and sometimes harsh, expression in far-fetched 
analogies, mystifying metaphors, and dimly suggestive images. The poetical apparatus of 
Donne, often, and his fancy, still more often, are essential in the passionate, soaring, and 
mystical outbursts of George Herbert, Richard Crashaw, and Henry Vaughan. One no- 
tices, however, that Spenser, Jonson, and Donne did not exclusively dominate the poetical 
output of their couscious or unconscious disciples. 

Toward the middle of the century appears a new influence in poetical form, the ' heroic,' or 
' closed,' couplet, practiced by Edmund Waller, John Denham, Abraham Cowley, and Andrew 
]Marvell. This verse-form, best adapted to epic and satire, had no important influence upon 
lyric, except, indirectly, through repression. 



THOMAS CAMPION (d. 1619) 
CHANCE AND CHANGE 

What if a day, or a month, or a year. 
Crown thy delights, with a thousand sweet 
contentings ! 

Cannot a chance of a night, or an hour, 
Cross thy desires, with as many sad torment- 

ings? 
Fortune, honor, beauty, youth, S 

Are but blossoms dying ! 
Wanton pleasure, doting love, 

Are but shadows flying! 
All our joys are but toys; 

Idle thoughts deceiving! 10 

None have power, of an hour, 

In their life's bereaving. 

Earth 's but a point to the world ; and a 
man 
Is but a point to the world's compared 
center! 

Shall then, a point of a point be so vain 
As to triumph in a silly point's adventure ! 
All is hazard that we have! 17 

There is nothing biding ! 
Days of pleasure are like streams. 

Through fair meadows gliding! 20 

Weal and woe. Time doth go ! 

Time is never turning ! 
Secret fates guide our states ; 

Both in mnlh and mourning! 



BASIA 

Turn back, you wanton flyer. 
And answer my desire 

With mutual greeting. 
Yet bend a little nearer, — 
True beauty still shines clearer 5 

In closer meeting! 
Hearts with hearts delighted 
Should strive to be united. 
Each other's arms with arms enchaining, — 

Hearts with a thought, 10 

Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. 

What harvest half so sweet is 
As still to reap the kisses 

Grown ripe in sowing? 
And straight to be receiver »S 

Of that which thou art giver. 

Rich in bestowing? 
There 's no strict observing 
Of times' or seasons' swerving. 
There is ever one fresh spring abiding; — 20 
Then what we sow with our lips 
Let us reap, love's gains dividing. , 



A RENUNCIATION 

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white. 

For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — 
Thon art not sweet, though made of mere 
delight, 



160 



BEN JONSON 



i6i 



Nor fair, nor sweet — unless thou pity 

me! 
I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shalt 

prove 5 

That beauty is no beauty without love. 

i'et love not me, nor seek not to allure 
My thoughts with beauty, were it more 
divine : 

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 
I '11 not be wrapped up in those arms of 
thine : lo 

Now show it, if thou be a woman 
right — 

Embrace and kiss and love me, in de- 
spite ! 



SIC TRANSIT 

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me; 
For while thou view'st me with thy fading 
light 
Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 
And I still onward haste to my last 
night : 
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly — s 
So every day we live a day we die. 

But O ye nights, ordained for barren rest. 
How are my days deprived of life in 
you 

When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest. 
By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! 

Part of my life in that, you life deny: n 

So every day we live, a day we die. 



BEN JONSON (i573?-i637) 
SONG TO CELIA 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I '11 not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 5 

Doth ask a drink divine; 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee lo 

As giving it a hope, that there 

It could not withered be. 
But thou thereon didst only breathe. 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 



SONG: TO CELIA 

Come, my Celia, let us prove. 

While we can, the sports of love. 

Time will not be ours for ever; 

He, at length, our good will sever ; 

Spend not then his gifts in vain. S 

Suns that set may rise again ; 

But if once we lose this light, 

'T is with us perpetual night. 

Why should we defer our joys? 

Fame and rumor are but toys. le 

Cannot we delude the eyes 

Of a few poor household spies? 

Or his easier ears beguile, 

Thus removed by our wile? 

'T is no sin love's fruits to steal; iS 

But the sweet theft to reveal. 

To be taken, to be seen, 

These have crimes accounted been. 



TO HEAVEN 

Good and great God ! can I not think of 

thee, 
But it must straight my melancholy be? 
Is it interpreted in me disease. 
That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease? 

be thou witness, that the reins dost 

know s 

And hearts of all, if I be sad for show; 

And judge me after, if I dare pretend 

To aught but grace, or aim at other end. 

As thou art all, so be thou all to me. 

First, midst, and last, converted One and 
Three ! lo 

My faith, my hope, my love ; and, in this 
state. 

My judge, my witness, and my advocate! 

Where have I been this while exiled from 
thee. 

And whither rapt, now thou but stoop'st 
to me? 

Dwell, dwell here still ! O, being every- 
where, IS 

How can I doubt to find thee ever here? 

1 know my state, both full of shame and 

scorn. 
Conceived in sin, and unto labor born. 
Standing with fear, and must with horror fall. 
And destined unto judgment, after all. 20 
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is 

ground 
Upon my flesh t' inflict another wound ; 
Yet dare I not complain or wish for death, 
With holy Paul, lest it be thought the 

breath 
Of discontent ; or that these prayers be ^5 
For weariness of life, not love of thee. 



1 62 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS 

See the chariot at hand here of Love, 

Wherein my Lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As she goes, all hearts do duty 5 

Unto her beauty; 
And enamored, do wish, so they might 

But enjoy such a sight, 
That they still were to run by her side, 
Through swords, through seas, whither she 
would ride. lo 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 

All that Love's world compriseth ! 
Do but look on her hair, it is bright 

As Love's star when it riseth ! 

Do but mark, her forehead 's smoother is 

Than words that soothe her ; 

And from her arched brows, such a grace 

Sheds itself through the face 

As alone there triumphs to the life 

All the gain, all the good, of the elements' 

strife. 20 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
Before rude hands have touched it? 
Have you marked but the fall of the snow 

Before the soil hath smutched it? 
Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 25 

Or swan's down ever? 
Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar? 

Or the nard in the fire? 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee? 
Oh so white! Oh so soft! Oh so sweet is 
she ! 30 



AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY 

Weep with me, all you that read 

This little story: 
And know, for whom a tear you shed 

Death's self is sorry. 
'Twas a child that so did thrive 5 

In grace and feature. 
As heaven and nature seemed to strive 

Which owned the creature. 
Years he numbered scarce thirteen 

When fates turned cruel, 10 

Yet three filled zodiacs had he been 

The stage's jewel: 
And did act, what now we moan, 

Old men so duly. 
As, soth, the Parcse thought him one, is 

He played so truly. 
So, by error, to his fate 

They all consented; 



But viewing him since, alas, too late ! 

They have repented ; 
And have sought, to give new birth. 

In baths to steep him ; 
But being so much too good for earth. 

Heaven vows to keep him. 



EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H. 

Would'st thou hear what man can say 
In a little? Reader, stay. 

Underneath this stone doth lie 
As much beauty as could die: 
Which in life did harbor give 
To more virtue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault. 
Leave it buried in this vault. 
One name was Elizabeth, 
The other, let it sleep with death ! 
Fitter, where it died, to tell. 
Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED, 
MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 

To draw no envy, Shakspere, on thy name, 
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; 
While I confess thy writings to be such 
As neither man, nor muse, can praise too 

much. 
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But 

these ways 5 

Were not the paths I meant unto thy 

praise ; 
For silliest ignorance on these may light, 
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes 

right ; 
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er ad- 
vance 
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by 

chance; 1° 

Or crafty malice might pretend this praise. 
And think to ruin, where it seemed to 

raise. 
These are, as some infamous bawd or whore 
Should praise a matron. What could hurt 

her more? '4 

But thou art proof against them, and, indeed. 
Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 
I therefore will begin. Soul of the age! 
The applause, delight, the wonder of our 

stage ! 
My Shakspere, rise ! I will not lodge thee 

Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 



BEN JONSON 



163 



A little further, to make thee a room: 21 
Thou art a monument without a tomb, 
And art ahve still while thy book doth live 
And we have wits to read and praise to 

give. 
That I not mix thee so, my brain ex- 
cuses, 25 
I mean with great, but disproportioned 

Muses ; 
For if I thought my judgment were of 

years, 
I should commit thee surely with thy peers, 
And tell how far thou didst our Lyly out- 
shine, 
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty 

line. 30 

And though thou hadst small Latin and less 

Greek, 
From thence to honor thee, I would not 

seek 
For names ; but call forth thundering 

^■Eschylus, 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us ; 
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 35 
To life again, to hear thy buskin tread. 
And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were 

on. 
Leave thee alone for the comparison 
Of all that insolent Greece or haughty 

Rome 
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes 

come. , 40 

Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to 

show 
To whom all scenes of Europe homage 

owe. 
He was not of an age,' but for all time ! 
And all the Muses still were in their prime. 
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! 46 
Nature herself was proud of his designs 
And joyed to wear the dressing of his 

lines ! 
Which were so richly spun, and woven so 

fit. 
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, si 

Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not 

please ; 
But antiquated and deserted lie, 
As they were not of Nature's family. 
Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art, 55 
My gentle Shakspere, must enjoy a part. 
For though the poet's matter nature be, 
His art doth give the fashion; and, that he 
Who casts to write a living line, must 

sweat, 
(Such as thine are) and strike the second 

heat 60 



Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same 
(And himself with it) that he thinks to 

frame. 
Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; 
For a good poet's made, as well as born. 
And such wert thou! Look how the fa- 
ther's face 6s 
Lives in his issue, even so the race 
Of Shakspere's mind and manners brightly 

shines 
In his well turned, and true filed lines; 
In each of which he seems to shake a lance. 
As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 70 
Sweet Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were 
To see thee in our waters yet appear, 
And make those flights upon the banks of 

Thames, 
That so did take Eliza, and our James! 
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 75 
Advanced, and made a constellation there ! 
Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with 

rage 
Or influence, chide or cheer the drooping 

stage. 
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath 

mourned like night. 
And despairs day, but for thy volume's 

light. 80 



A PINDARIC ODE 

To the immortal memory and friendship of 
that noble pair. Sir Lucius Gary and Sir 
H. Morison. 



The Strophe, or Turn 
Brave infant of Saguntum, clear 
Thy coming forth in that great year, 
When the prodigious Hannibal did crown 
His rage with razing your immortal town. 
Thou looking then about, 5 

Ere thou wert half got out, 
Wise child, didst hastily return. 
And mad'st thy mother's womb thine urn. 
How summed a circle didst thou leave man- 
kind 
Of deepest lore, could we the center find ! 10 

The Antistrophe, or Counter-Turn 
Did wiser nature draw thee back. 
From out the horror of that sack; 
Where shame, faith, honor, and regard of 

right. 
Lay trampled on? the deeds of death and 
night 
Urged, hurried forth, and hurled "5 
Upon the affrighted world; 



164 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Fire, famine, and fell fury met, 

And all on utmost ruin set : 
As, could they but life's miseries foresee, 
No doubt all infants would return like 
thee. 20 

The Epode, or Stand 
For what is life, if measured by the space. 

Not by the act? 
Or masked man, if valued by his face, 
Above his fact? 
Here 's one outlived his peers 25 

And told forth fourscore years: 
He vexed time, and busied the whole 
' state ; 

Troubled both foes and friends; 
But ever to no ends : 
What did this stirrer but die late? 30 
How well at twenty had he fallen or stood ! 
For three of his four score he did no good. 



The Strophe, or Turn 
He entered well by virtuous parts. 
Got up, and thrived with honest arts, 
He purchased friends, and fame, and hon- 
ors then, 35 
And had his noble name advanced with 
men ; 
But weary of that flight, 
He stooped in all men's sight 
To sordid flatteries, acts of strife, 
And sunk in that dead sea of life, 4° 
So deep, as he did then death's waters sup. 
But that the cork of title buoyed him up. 

The Antistrophe, or Counter-Turn 
Alas ! but Morison fell young ! 
He never fell, — thou fall'st, my tongue. 
He stood a soldier to the last right end, 45 
A perfect patriot and a noble friend ; 
But most, a virtuous son. 
All offices were done 
By him, so ample, full, and round, 
In weight, in measure, number, sound, 50 
As, though his age imperfect might appear. 
His life was of humanity the sphere. 

The Epode, or Stand 
Go now, and tell our days summed up with 
fears. 
And make them years ; 
Produce thy mass of miseries on the stage, 
To swell thine age ; 5^ 

Repeat of things a throng. 
To show thou hast been long. 
Not lived ; for life doth her great actions 
spell 



By what was done and wrought 60 

^ In season, and so brought 
To light : her measures are, how well 
Each syllabe answered, and was formed, 

how fair ; 
These make the lines of life, and that 's 
her air ! 

in 

The Strophe, or Turn 
It is not growing like a tree 65 

In bulk, doth make men better be ; 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred 

year. 
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear : 
A lily of a day, 
Is fairer far, in May, 7° 

Although it fall and die that night; 
It was the plant and flower of light. 
In small proportions we just beauties see; 
And in short measures life may perfect be. 

The Antistrophe, or Counter-Turn 
Call, noble Lucius, then, for wine, 7S 
And let thy looks with gladness shine ; 
Accept this garland, plant it on thy head, 
And think, nay know, thy Morison 's not 
dead. 
He leaped the present age, 
Possest with holy rage, 80 

To see that bright eternal day; 
Of which we priests and poets say 
Such truths as we expect for happy men ; 
And there he lives with memory and 
Ben 

The Epode, or Stand 
Jonson, who sung this of him, ere he went. 
Himself, to rest, 86 

Or taste a part of that full joy he meant 
To have exprest. 
In this bright asterism ; — 
Where it were friendship's schism, 9c 
Were not his Lucius long with us to 
tarry. 
To separate these twi- 
Lights, the Dioscuri ; 
And keep the one half from his Harry. 
But fate doth so alternate the design, 95 
Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth 
must shine, — 



The Strophe, or Turn 
And shine as you exalted are ; 
Two names of friendship, but one star: 
Of hearts the union, and those not by 
chance 



JOHN DONNE 



165 



Made, or indenture, or leased out t' advance 
The profits for a time. loi 

No pleasures vain did chime, 
Of rimes, or riots, at your feasts. 
Orgies of drink, or feigned protests; 
But simple love of greatness and of good, 
That knits brave minds and manners more 
than blood. 106 

The Antistrophe, or Counter-Turn 
This made you first to know the w^hy 
You liked, then after, to apply 
That liking; and approach so one the t' 

other, • 

Till either grew a portion of the other; no 
Each styled by his end. 
The copy of his friend. 
You lived to be the great sir-names 
And titles by which all made claims 
Unto the Virtue: nothing perfect done, ns 
But as a Gary or a Morison. 

The Epode. or Stand 
And such a force the fair example had. 

As they that saw 
The good and durst not practise it, were 
glad 
That such a law 120 

Was left yet to mankind ; 
Where they might read and find 
Friendship, indeed, was written not in 
words ; 
And with the heart, not pen. 
Of two so early men, 125 

Whose lines her rolls were, and records ; 
Who, ere the first down bloomed on the 

chin. 
Had sowed these fruits, and got the har- 
vest in. 



JOHN DONNE (1573-1631) 

SONG 

Go and catch a falling star, 

Get with child a mandrake root. 
Tell me where all past years are, 

Or who cleft the devil's foot; 
Teach me to hear mermaids singing, 
to keep off envy's .stinging, 
And find 
What wind 
Serves to advance an honest mind. 

If thou be'st born to strange sights, 

Things invisible go see. 
Ride ten thousand days and nights 

Till Age snow white hairs on thee ; 



Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me 
All strange wonders that befell thee, is 

And swear 

No where 
Lives a woman true and fair. 

If thou find'st one, let me know; 

Such a pilgrimage were sweet. 20 

Yet do not ; I would not go, 

Though at next door we might meet. 
Though she were true when you met her. 
And last till you write your letter, 

Yet she ^s 

Will be 
False, ere I come, to two or three. 



THE INDIFFERENT 

I can love both fair and brown ; 

Her whom abundance melts, and her >vhom 

want betrays ; 
Her who loves loneness best, and her who 

masks and plays ; 
Her whom the country formed, and whom 

the town ; 
Her who believes, and her who tries; 5 
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes. 
And her who is dry cork and never cries. 
I can love her, and her, and you, and you; 
I can love any, so she be not true. 

Will no other vice content you? 10 

Will it not serve your turn to do as did 

your mothers? 
Or have you all old vices spent and now 

would find out others? 
Or doth a fear that men are true torment 

you? 
O we are not, be not you so ; 
Let me — and do you — twenty know; is 
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go. 
Must I, who came to travel thorough you. 
Grow your fixed subject, because you are 

true ? 

Venus heard me sigh this song; 

And by love's sweetest part, variety, she 
swore, 20 

She heard not this till now ; it should be 
so no more. 

She went, examined, and returned ere long, 

And said, ' Alas ! some two or three 

Poor heretics in love there be, 

Which think to stablish dangerous con- 
stancy. 25 

But I have told them, " Since you will be 
true, 

You shall be true to them who 're false to 
you." ' 



i66 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



THE CANONIZATION 

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let 
me love ; 
Or chide my palsy, or my gout; 
My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune 
flout; 
With wealth your state, your mind with 
arts improve; 
Take you a course, get you a place, 5 
Observe his Honor, or his Grace; 
Or the king's real, or his stamped face 
Contemplate ; what you will, approve, 
So you will let me love. 

Alas! alas! who's injured by my love? lo 
What merchant's ships have my sighs 

drowned? 
Who says my tears have overflowed his 
ground ? 
When did my colds a forward spring re- 
move? 
When did the heats which my veins fill 
Add one more to the plaguy bill? 'S 
Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out 
still 
Litigious men, which quarrels move. 
Though she and I do love. 

Call 's what you will, we are made such by 
love; 
Call, her one, me another fly, 20 

We 're tapers too, and at our own cost 
die, 
And we in us find th' eagle and the dove. 
The phoenix riddle hath more wit 
By us ; we two being one, are it ; 
So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit. 25 
We die and rise the same, and prove 
Mysterious by this love. 

We can die by it, if not live by love, 
And if unfit for tomb or hearse 
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse ; 30 
And if no piece of chronicle we prove. 
We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms; 
As well a well-wrought urn becomes 
The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, 
And by these hymns all shall approve 35 
Us canonized for love ; 

And thus invoke us, ' You, whom reverend 
lov£ 
Made one another's hermitage ; 
You, to whom love was peace, that now 
is rage ; 
Who did the whole world's soul contract, 
and drove 4° 

Into the glasses of your eyes ; 
So made such mirrors, and such spies. 



That they did -all to you epitomize — 

Countries, towns, courts beg from above 
A pattern of your love.' 45 



THE DREAM 

Dear love, for nothing less than thee 

Would I have broke this happy dream; 
It was a theme 

For reason, much too strong for fantasy. 

Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet 5 

My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st 
ft. 

Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suf- 
fice 

To make dreams truths and fables his- 
tories ; 

Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st 
it best 

Not to dream all my dream, let 's act the 
rest. 10 

As lightning, or a taper's light, 

Thine eyes, and not thine noise, waked me; 

Yet I thought thee — 
For thou lov'st truth — an angel, at first 

sight ; 
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart, i5 
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's 

art. 
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when 

thou knew'st when 
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st 

then, 
I must confess it could not choose but be 
Profane to think thee anything but thee. 20 

Coming and staying showed thee thee, 
But rising makes me doubt that now 

Thou art not thou. 
That love is weak where fear 's as strong 

as he; 
*T is not all spirit pure and brave 25 

If mixture it of fear, shame, honor have. 
Perchance as torches, which must ready be. 
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with 

me. 
Thou cam'st to kindle, go'st to come : then I 
Will dream that hope again, but else would 

die. 30 



LOVE'S DEITY 

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost 
Who died before the god of love was 
born. 
I cannot think that he who then loved most 



JOHN DONNE 



167 



Sunk so low as to love one which did 
scorn. 
But since this god produced a destiny, 5 
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be, 

I must love her that loves not me. 

Sure they which made him god, meant not 
so much. 
Nor he in his young godhead practised it. 
But when an even flame two hearts did 
touch, ^° 

His office was indulgently to fit 
Actives to passives. Correspondency 
Only his subject was; it cannot be 
Love till I love her who loves me. 

But every modern god will now extend is 
His vast prerogative as far as Jove. 

To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, 
All is the purlieu of the god of love. 

O ! were we wakened by this tyranny 

To ungod this child again, it could not be 
I should love her who loves not me. 21 

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I, 
As though I felt the worst that love 
could do ? 
Love may make me leave loving, or might 
try 
A deeper plague, to make her love me, 
too ; 25 

Which, since she loves before, I 'm loth to 

see. 
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that 
must be. 
If she whom I love, should love me. 



THE FUNERAL 

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm 

Nor question much 
That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm ; 
The mystery, the sign you must not touch. 

For 't is my outward soul, 5 

Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being 
gone, 

Will leave this to control 
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from 
dissolution. 

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall 

Through every part 10 

Can tie those parts, and make me one of 

all; 
Those hairs, which upward grew, and 
strength and art 
Have from a better brain, 
Can better do 't : except she meant that I 
By this should know my pain, i5 



As prisoners then are manacled, when 
they 're condemned to die. 

Whate'er she meant by % bury it with me, 

For since I am 
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry 
If into other hands these reliques came. ^ 

As 't was humility 
T' afford to it all that a soul can do, 

So 't is some bravery 
That, since you would have none of me, I 
bury some of you. 

THE COMPUTATION 

For my first twenty years, since yesterday, 
I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away; 
For forty more I fed on favors past, 
And forty on hopes, that thou wouldst they 

might last ; 
Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew 

out two ; s 

A thousand I did neither think nor do. 
Or not divide, all being one thought of you; 
Or in a thousand more, forgot that too. 
Yet call not this long life; but think that I 
Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts 

die? 10 

FORGET 

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree 
Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, 
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious 
Cannot be damned, alas ! why should I be ? 
Why should intent or reason, born in ,me, s 
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? 
And, mercy being easy and glorious 
To God, in his stern wrath why threatens 

he? 
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee? 

God, O ! of thine only worthy blood 1° 
And my tears make a heavenly Lethean 

flood. 
And drown in it my sin's black memory. 
That thou remember them, some claim as 

debt; 

1 think it mercy if thou wilt forget. 

DEATH 

Death, be not proud, though some have 

called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 
For those whom thou think'st thou dost 

overthrow 
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou 

kill me. 



i68 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



From rest and sleep, which but thy picture 

be, s 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more 

must flow ; 
And soonest our best men with thee do 

go — 
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! 
Thou 'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and 

desperate men, 
And dost with poison, war, and sickness 

dwell; J° 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep 

as well 
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st 

thou then ? 
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, 
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou 

shalt die! 



A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER 

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, 
Which was my sin, though it were done 
before? 
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which 
I run. 
And do run still, though still I do de- 
plore? 
When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; 
For I have more. 6 

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have 

won 
Others to sin, and made my sins their 

door? 

Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did 

shun 

A year or two, but wallowed in a score? 

When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; 

For I have more. 12 

I have a sin of fear, that when I 've spun 
My last thread, I shall perish on the 
shore ; 
But swear by thyself that at my death thy 
Son 15 

Shall shine as he shines now and hereto- 
fore ; 
And having done that, thou hast done ; 
I fear no more. 



JOHN FLETCHER (i 579-1625) 

LOVE'S EMBLEMS 

Now the lusty spring is seen ; 
Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
Daintily invite the view, 



Everywhere on every green, 

Roses blushing as they blow, 5 

And enticing men to pull 

Lilies whiter than the snow. 

Woodbines of sweet honey full : 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
' Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' so 

Yet the lusty spring hath stayed ; 
Blushing red and purest white 
Daintily to love invite 

Every woman, every maid. 

Cherries kissing as they grow, ^S 

And inviting men to taste, 

Apples even ripe below. 

Winding gently to the waist: 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' 20 



MELANCHOLY 

Hence, all you vain delights. 
As short as are the nights 

Wherein you spend your folly! 
There 's naught in this life sweet, 
H man were wise to see 't, S 

But only melancholy; 

O sweetest melancholy! 

Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, 
A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
A look that 's fastened to the ground, ^0 
A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
Fountain heads and pathless groves, 
Places which pale passion loves! 
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
Are warmly housed save bats and owls! is 
A midnight bell, a parting groan, 
These are the sounds we feed upon. 
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy 

valley ; 
Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely melan- 
choly. 



SONG TO BACCHUS 

God Lyseus, ever young. 
Ever honored, ever sung; 
Stained with blood of lusty grapes. 
In a thousand lusty shapes, 
Dance upon the mazer's brim, 
In the crimson liquor swim; 
From thy plenteous hand divine 
Let a river run with wine; 
God of youth, let this day here 
Enter neither care nor fear! 



FRANCIS BEAUMONT — GEORGE WITHER 



169 



BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR 

Beauty clear and fair, 
Where the air 

Rather like a perfume dwells ; 
Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins and blush disclose, 

And come to honor nothing else. 

Where to live near, 

And planted there. 
Is to live, and still live new ; 

Where to gain a favor is 

More than light, perpetual bliss, — 
Make me live by serving you. 

Dear, again back recall 
To this light 

A stranger to himself and all; 
Both the wonder and the story 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory: 

I am your servant, and your thrall. 

WEEP NO MORE 

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan. 
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone ; 
Violets plucked the sweetest rain 
Makes not fresh nor grow again ; 
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; 
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see; 
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, 
Why should sadness longer last? 
Grief is but a wound to woe; 
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. 



ASPATIA'S SONG 

Lay a garland on my hearse 

Of the dismal yew; 
Maidens, willow branches bear; 

Say, I died true. 

My love was false, but I was firm 
From my hour of birth. 

Upon my buried body lie 
Lightly, gentle earth ! 



FRANCIS BEAUMONT 
(1584-1616) 

ON THE LIFE OF MAN 

Like to the falling of a star. 

Or as the flights of eagles are. 

Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 

Or silver drops of morning dew. 



IS 



Or like a wind that chafes the flood. 
Or bubbles which on water stood : 
Even such is man, whose borrowed light 
Is straight called in and paid to night: 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies. 
The spring intombed in autumn lies ; 
The dew 's dried up, the star is shot, 
The flight is past, and man forgot. 



LINES ON THE TOMBS IN 
WESTMINSTER 

Mortality, beljold and fear! 

What a change of flesh is here! 

Think how many royal bones 

Sleep within this heap of stones; 

Here they lie had realms and lands, s 

Who now want strength to stir their 

hands ; 
Where from their pulpits sealed with 

dust 
They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.' 
Here 's an acre sown indeed 
With the richest royal'st seed 10 

That the earth did e'er suck in, 
Since the first man died for sin ; 
Here the bones of birth have cried, 
' Though gods they were, as men they 

died.' 
Here are sands, ignoble things, 15 

Dropt from the ruined sides of kings. 
Here 's a world of pomp and state, 
Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 



GEORGE WITHER (i 588-1667) 

THE LOVER'S RESOLUTION 

Shall I, wasting in despair. 
Die, because a woman's fair? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are? 
Be she fairer than the day, 
Or the flowery meads in- May! 
■ If she be not so to me, 
What care I how fair she be? 

Should my heart be grieved or pined, 

' Cause I see a woman kind ? 

Or a well disposed nature 

Joined with a lovely feature? 

Be she meeker, kinder than 

Turtle dove, or pelican ! 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how kind she be? 



lyo 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Shall a woman's virtues move 

Me to perish for her love? 

Or her well deserving known, 

Make me quite forget mine own? 20 

Be she with that goodness blest 

Which may gain her, name of best ! 
If she be not such to me, 
What care I how good she be? 

'Cause her fortune seems too high, 25 

Shall I play the fool, and die? 
Those that bear a noble mind, 
Where they want of riches find. 
Think ' What, with them, they would do 
That, without them, dare to woo ! ' 30 

And unless that mind I see. 
What care I though great she be? 



35 



40 



Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
I will ne'er the more despair! 
If she love me (this believe!) 
I will die, ere she shall grieve! 
If she slight me, when I woo, 
I can scorn, and let her go ! 
For if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be? 



WHEN WE ARE UPON THE SEAS 

From HALLELUJAH 

On those great waters now I am. 

Of which I have been told. 

That whosoever thither came 

Should wonders there behold. 

In this unsteady place of fear, 5 

Be present. Lord, with me ; 

For in these depths of water here, 

I -depths of danger see. 

A stirring courser now I sit, 

A headstrong steed I ride, 10 

That champs and foams upon the bit 

Which curbs his lofty pride. 

The softest whistling of the winds 

Doth make him gallop fast ; 

And as their breath increased he finds is 

The more he maketh haste. 

Take thou. Oh Lord ! the reins in hand. 
Assume our Master's room ; 
Vouchsafe thou at our helm to stand, 
And pilot to become. 20 

Trim thou the sails, and let good speed 
Accompany our haste ; 
Sound thou the channels at our need 
And anchor for us cast. 



25 



A fit and favorable wind 

To further us, provide ; 

And let it wait on us behind. 

Or lackey by our side. 

From sudden gusts, from storms, from 

sands, 
And from the raging wave; ' 3° 

From shallows, rocks, and pirates' hands, 
Men, goods, and vessel save. 

Preserve us from the wants, the fear, 

And sickness of the seas ; 

But chiefly from our sins, which are 35 

A danger worse than these. 

Lord ! let us, also, safe arrive 

Where we desire to be; 

And for thy mercies let us give 

Due thanks and praise to thee. 40 



THE PRAYER OF OLD AGE 

From HALLELUJAH 

As this my carnal robe grows old. 
Soiled, rent, and worn by length of years. 
Let me on that by faith lay hold 
Which man in life immortal wears: 

So sanctify my days behind, 5 

Do let my manners be refined. 
That when my soul and flesh must part, 
There lurk no terrors in my heart. 

So shall my rest be safe and sweet 
When I am lodged in my grave; 10 

And when my soul and body meet, 
A joyful meeting they shall have ; 

Their essence, then, shall be divine, 
This muddy flesh shall starlike shine, 
And God shall that fresh youth restore ^5 
Which will abide for evermore. 



V^ILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) 
BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS 
From BOOK II, SONG I 

Glide soft, ye silver floods. 

And every spring: 

Within the shady woods 

Let no bird sing! 

Nor from the grove a turtle-dove S 

Be seen to couple with her love. 

But silence on each dale and mountain 
dwell. 

Whilst Willy bids his friend and joy fare- 
well. 



WILLIAM BROWNE 



171 



But, of great Thetis' train, 

Ye mermaids fair 10 

That on the shores do plain 

Your sea-green hair, 

As ye in trammels knit your locks. 

Weep ye; and so enforce the rocks 

In heavy murmurs through the broad shores 
tell, 15 

How Willy bade his frieq^ and joy fare- 
well. 

Cease, cease ye murd'ring winds, 
To move a wave; 
But if with troubled minds 
You seek his grave, 20 

Know 't is as various as yourselves 
Now in the deep, then on the shelves. 
His coffin tossed by fish and surges fell, 
Whilst Willy weeps, and bids all joy fare- 
well. 

Had he, Arion-like 23 

Been judged to drown, 
He on his lute could strike 
So rare a sown, 

A thousand dolphins would have come 
And jointly strive to bring him home. 3° 
But he on shipboard died, by sickness fell. 
Since when his Willy paid all joy farewell. 

Great Neptune, hear a swain ! 
His coffin take. 

And with a golden chain 35 

For pity make 

It fast unto a rock near land ! 
Where ev'ry calmy morn I '11 stand, 
And ere one sheep out of my fold I tell. 
Sad Willy's pipe shall bid his friend fare- 
well. 40 
* * * 



From BOOK II, SONG V 

Now was the Lord and Lady of the May 
Meeting the May-pole at the break of day. 
And Caslia, as the fairest on the green, 
Not without some maids' envy chosen 

queen. 
Now was the time com'n, when our gentle 

swain s 

Must in his harvest, or lose all again. 
Now must he pluck the rose lest other 

hands, 
Or tempests blemish what so fairly stands : 
And therefore, as they had before decreed, 
Our shepherd gets a boat, and with all 

speed, 10 



In night, that doth on lovers' actions smile, 
Arrived safe on Mona's fruitful isle. 

Between two rocks (immortal, without 

mother). 
That stands as if out-facing one another, 
There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, is 
As if the waters hid them from the wind; 
Which never washed but at a higher tide 
The frizzled coats which do the mountains 

hide ; 
Where never gale was longer known to stay 
Than from the smooth wave it had swept 

away 20 

The new divorced leaves, that from each 

side 
Left the thick boughs to dance out with the 

tide. 
At further end the creek a stately wood 
Gave a kind shadow to the brackish flood 
Made up of trees, not less kenned by each 

skiff 25 

Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, 
Upon whose tops the hernshaw bred her 

young, 
And hoary moss upon their branches hung; 
Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show. 
Without their height, what time they 'gan 

to grow ; 30 

And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears. 
None could allot them less than Nestor's 

years. 
As under their command the thronged 

creek 
Ran lessened up. Here did the shepherd 

seek 
Where he his little boat might safely hide, 
Till it was fraught with what the world be- 
side 36 
Could not outvalue ; nor give equal weight 
Though in the time when Greece was at her 

height. 
The ruddy horses of the rosy Morn 
Out of the eastern gates had newly borne 40 
Their blushing mistress in her golden chair, 
Spreading new light throughout our hemi- 
sphere. 
When fairest Caelia with a lovelier crew 
Of damsels than brave Latmus ever knew 
Came forth to meet the youngsters, who 

had here 45 

Cut down an oak that long withouten peer 
Bore his round head imperiously above 
His other mates there, consecrate to Jove. 
The wished time drew on : and Cselia now. 
That had the fame for her white arched 

brow, 50 

While all her lovely fellows busied were 
In picking off the gems from Tellus' hair. 



1/2 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Made tow'rds the creek, where Philocel, un- 

spied 
Of maid or shepherd that their May-games 

plied, 
Received his wished-for Cselia, and begun 
To steer his boat contrary to the sun, 56 
Who could have wished another in his 

place 
To guide the car of light, or that his race 
Were to have end (so he might bless his 

hap) 
In Caelia's bosom, not in Thetis' lap. 60 

The boat oft danced for joy of what it 

held : 
The hoist-up sail not quick but gently 

swelled. 
And often shook, as fearing what might 

fall. 
Ere she delivered what she went withal. 
Winged Argestes, fair Aurora's son, 65 
Licensed that day to leave his dungeon, 
Meekly attended and did never err, 
Till Cselia graced our land, and our land 

her. 
As through the waves their love-fraught 

wherry ran, 
A many Cupids, each set on his swan, 7o 
Guided with reins of gold and silver twist 
The spotless birds about them as they 

list: 
Which would have sung a song 'ere they 

were gone 
Had unkind Nature given them more than 

one; 
Or in bestowing that had not done wrong. 
And made their sweet lives forfeit one sad 

song. 76 

* * * 



ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF 
PEMBROKE 

Underneath this sable hearse 
Lies the subject of all verse: 
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : 
Death, ere thou hast slain another 
Fair and learned and good as she, 5 
Time shall throw a dart at thee. 

Marble piles let no man raise 
To her name : for after days 
Some kind woman, born as she, 
Reading this, like Niobe 10 

Shall turn marble, and become 
Both her mourner and her tomb. 



ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674) 

CORINNA 'S GOING A-MAYING 

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming 

morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
See how Aurora throws her fair 
Fresh-quilteA colors through the air : 
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 5 
The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
Each flower has wept and bowed toward the 

east 
Above an hour since: yet you not dressed; 
Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
When all the birds have matins said 1° 
And sung their thankful hymns, 't is 

sin, 
Nay, profanation, to keep in, 
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in 
May. 

Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen 
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh 
and green, i^ 

And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
For jewels for your gown or hair: 
Fear not ; the leaves will strew 
Gems in abundance upon you : 20 

Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 
Against you come, some orient pearls un- 
wept; 
Come and receive them while the light: 
Hangs on the dew-locks of the n'ght: 
And Titan on the eastern hill 25 

Retires himself, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief 

in praying: 
Few beads are best when once we go a-May- 
ing. 

Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming 

mark 
How each field turns a street, each street a 
park 30 

Made green and trimmed with trees; 

see how 
Devotion gives each house a bough 
Or branch : each porch, each door ere 

this 
An ark, a tabernacle is. 
Made up of white-thorn, neatly interwove; 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
Can such delights be in the street 37 
And open fields and we not see't? 
Come, we '11 abroad ; and let 's obey 
The proclamation made for May : 4° 



ROBERT HERRICK 



173 



And sin no more, as we have done, by stay- 
ing; 
But, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying. 

There 's not a budding boy or girl this day 

But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 

A deal of youth, ere this, is come 45 

Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 

Some have despatched their cakes and 

cream 
Before that we have left to dream : 
And some have wept, and wooed, and 

plighted troth. 
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off 
sloth : so 

Many a green-gown has been given ; 
Many a kiss, both odd and even ; 
Many a glance too has been sent 
From out the eye, love's firmament ; 
Many a jest told of the keys betraying 55 
This night, and locks picked, yet we 're not 
a-Maying. 

Come, let us go while we are in our prime ; 

And take the harmless folly of the time. 
We shall grow old apace, and die 
Before we know our liberty. 60 

Our life is short, and our days run 
As fast away as does the sun ; 

And, as a vapor or a drop of rain, 

Once lost, can ne 'er be found again. 

So when or you or I are made 65 

A fable, song, or fleeting shade. 

All love, all liking, all delight 

Lies drowned with us in endless night. 

Then while time serves, and we are but de- 
caying, 69 

Come, my Corinna, come let 's go a-Maying. 



UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES 

Whenas in silks my Julia goes. 

Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows 

The liquefaction of her clothes. 

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see 
That brave vibration, each way free, £ 

O, how that glittering taketh me ! 



TO THE VIRGINS TO MAKE MUCH 
OF TIME 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. 

Old Time is still a-flying; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day, 

To-morrow will be dying. 



The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, S 

The higher he 's a-getting, 
The sooner will his race be run. 

And nearer he 's to setting. 

That age is best which is the first, 

When youth and blood are warmer; 10 

But being spent, the worse and worst 
Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time. 

And while ye may, go marry ; 
For, having lost but once your prime, is 

You may forever tarry. 



TO DAFFODILS 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early rising sun 
Has not attained his noon. 

Stay, stay, S 

Until the hasting day 

Has run 
But to the even-song; 
And, having prayed together, we 

Will go with you along. 10 

We have short time to stay, as you. 

We have as short a spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay. 
As you, or anything. 

We die iS 

As your hours do, and dry 

Away, 
Like to the summer's rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne 'er to be found again. 20 



TO MUSIC 

Charm me asleep, and melt me so 

With thy delicious numbers. 

That being ravished, hence I go 

Away in easy slumbers. 

Ease my sick head. 

And make my bed. 

Thou power that canst sever 

From me this ill ; 

And quickly still. 

Though thou not kill 

My fever. 

Thou sweetly canst convert the same 
From a consuming fire. 
Into a gentle-licking flame, 
And make it thus expire. 
Then make me weep 



174 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



My pains asleep, 

And give me such reposes^ 

That I, poor I, 

May think, thereby, 20 

I live and die 

'Mongst roses. 

Fall on me like a silent dew, 

Or like those maiden showers, 

jWhich, by the peep of day, do strew 25 

A baptism o'er the flowers. 

Melt, melt my pains 

With thy soft strains ; 

That having ease me given, 

With full delight, 30 

I leave this light. 

And take my fhght 

For heaven. 



AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON 

Ah, Ben! 

Say how or when 

Shall we, thy guests. 

Meet at those lyric feasts, 

Made at the Sun, 5 

The Dog, the Triple Tun ; 

Where we such clusters had. 

As made us nobly wild, not mad? 

And yet each verse of thine 

Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. 10 

My Ben! 

Or come again. 

Or send to us 

Thy wit's great overplus; 

But teach us yet 'S 

Wisely to husband it. 

Lest we that talent spend ; 

And having once brought to an end 

That precious stock, the store 

Of such a wit the world should have no 



A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS 
HOUSE 

Lord, thou hast given me a cell 

Wherein to dwell, 
A little house, whose humble roof 

Is weather-proof. 
Under the spars of which I lie S 

Both soft and dry ; 
Where thou, my chamber for to ward, 

Hast set a guard 
Of harmless thoughts to watch and keep 

Me. while I sleep. "^ 



Low is my porch, as is my fate. 

Both void of state ; 
And yet the threshold of my door 

Is worn by th' poor. 
Who thither come and freely get is 

Good words, or meat. 
Like as my parlor, so my hall 

And kitchen 's small ; 
A little buttery, and therein 

A little bin, 20 

Which keeps my little loaf of bread 

Unchipped, unflead; 
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 

Make me a fire. 
Close by whose living coal I sit, 25 

And glow like it. 
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine. 

The pulse is thine. 
And all those other bits that be 

There placed by thee; 3° 

The worts, the purslain, and the mess 

Of water-cress. 
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; 

And my content 
Makes those, and my beloved beet, 35 

To be more sweet. 
'T is thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 

With guiltless mirth, 
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink. 

Spiced to the brink. 40 

Lord, 't is thy plenty-dropping hand 

That soils my land. 
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, 

Twice ten for one; 
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 45 

Her egg each day; 
Besides my healthful ewes to bear 

Me twins each year; 
The while the conduits of my kine 

Run cream, for wine. so 

All these, and better thou dost send 

Me, to this end. 
That I should render, for my part, 

A thankful heart. 
Which, fired with incense, I resign, 55 

As wholly thine; 
But the acceptance, that must be. 

My Christ, by thee. 



GRACE FOR A CHILD 

Here, a little child, I stand. 
Heaving up my either hand : 
Cold as paddocks though they be. 
Here I lift them up to thee. 
For a benison to fall 
On aur meat, and on us all. Amen. 



GEORGE HERBERT 



175 



HIS PRAYER FOR ABSOLUTION 

For those my unbaptized rimes. 

Writ in my wild unhallowed times, 

For every sentence, clause, and word, 

That 's not inlaid with thee, my Lord 

Forgive me, God, and blot each line 5 

Out of my book that is not thine. 

But if, 'mongst all, thou find'st here one 

Worthy thy benediction, 

That one of all the rest shall be 

The glory of my work and me. ^o 



GEORGE HERBERT (1593-1633) 
VIRTUE 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky! 

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, s 
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 

Thy root is ever in its grave. 
And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie, 

My music shows ye have your closes. 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 

Like seasoned timber, never gives ; 

But though the whole world turn to coal. 
Then chiefly lives, 16 



LOVE 

Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul drew 
back, 
Guilty of dust and sin. 
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow 
slack 
From my first entrance in. 
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, s 
If I lacked anything. 

* A guest,' I answered, ' worthy to be here : ' 
Love said, ' You shall be he.' 

'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear, 
I cannot look on thee ! ' 10 

Love took my hand and smiling did reply, 
' Who made the eyes but I ? ' 

' Truth, Lord ; but I have marred them : let 
my shame 
Go where it doth deserve.' 



' And know you not,' says Love, ' who bore 
the blame?' is 

' My dear, then I will serve.' 
' You must sit down,' says Love, ' and taste 
my meat.' 
So I did sit and eat. 



THE COLLAR 

I struck the board, and cried, * No more ; 

I will abroad ! 
What! shall I ever sigh and pine? 
My lines and life are free ; free as the road, 
Loose as the wind, as large as store. S 

Shall I be still in suit? 
Have I no harvest but a thorn 
To let me blood, and not restore 
What I have lost with cordial fruit? 

Sure there was wine 10 

Before my sighs did dry it; there was 
corn 
Before my tears did drown it; 
Is the year only lost to me ? 
Have I no bays to crown it, 
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, '5 
All wasted? 
Not so, my heart, but there is fruit, 
And thou hast hands. 
Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
On double pleasures ; leave thy cold dispute 
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage, ^i 

Thy rope of sands 
Which petty thoughts have made; and made 
to thee 
Good cable, to enforce and draw, 

And be thy law, 25 

While thou didst wink and wouldst not 
see. 
Away! take heed; 
I will abroad. 
Call in thy death's head there, tie up thy 
fears : 
He that forbears 30 

To suit and serve his need 
Deserves his load.' 
But as I raved, and grew more fierce and 
wild 
At every word, 
Methought I heard one calling, ' Child ' ; 
And I replied, 'My Lord.' 3« 



THE QUIP 

The merry World did on a day 

With his train-bands and mates agree 

To meet together where I lay. 
And all in sport to jeer at me. 



176 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



First Beauty crept into a rose, 5 

Which when I pluckt not, ' Sir,' said she, 

'Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those?' 
But Thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 

Then Money came, and chinking still, 

'What tune is this, poor man?' said he: 

'I heard in Music you had skill;' n 

But Thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 

Then came brave Glory puffing by 
In silks that whistled, who but he! 

He scarce allowed me half an eye; is 

But Thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 

Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
And he would needs a comfort be, 

And, to be short, make an oration : 

But Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 20 

Yet when the hour of Thy design 

To answer these fine things shall come, 

Speak not at large ; say, ' I am Thine,' 
And then they have their answer home. 

THE WORLD 

Love built a stately house, where Fortune 
came ; 
And spinning fancies, she was heard to say 
That her fine cobwebs did support the 

frame, 
Whereas they were supported by the same ; 
But Wisdom quickly swept them all 'away. 

Then Pleasure came, who, liking not the 
fashion, 6 

Began to make balconies, terraces. 
Till she had weakened all by alteration ; 
But reverend laws, and many a proclama- 
tion, 
Reformed all at length with menaces. 1° 

Then entered Sin, and with that sycamore 
Whose leaves first sheltered man from 
drought and dew, 
Working and winding slily evermore, 
The inward walls and summers cleft and 
tore ; 
But Grace shored these, and cut that as it 
grew. IS 

Then Sin combined with Death in a firm 
band 
To raze the building to the very floor : 
Which they effected, none could them with- 
stand ; 
But Love and Grace took Glory by the 
hand, 
And built a braver palace than before. 20 



THE PULLEY 

When God at first made man, 
Having a glass of blessing standing by; 

' Let us,' said he, ' pour on him all we 
can : 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 

Contract into a span.' - S 

So Strength first made a way; 
Then Beauty flowed ; then Wisdom, Honor, 
Pleasure. 
When almost all was out, God made a 
stay. 
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, 
Rest in the bottom lay. * 10 

' For if I should,' said he, 
' Bestow this jewel also on my creature, 

He would adore my gifts instead of me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Na- 
ture; 

So both should losers be. iS 

' Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlessness ; 

Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 

May toss him to my breast.' 20 



THOMAS CAREW (i598?-i639?) 

SONG 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past, the fading rose, 
For in your beauty's orient deep 
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 

Ask me no more whither do stray 5 

The golden atoms of the day, 
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 

The nightingale when May is past, »«> 

For in your sweet dividing throat 

She winters and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night, 
For in your eyes they sit, and there is 

Fixed become as in their sphere. 

Ask me no more if east or west 

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest. 

For unto you at last she flies, 

And in your fragrant bosom dies. 20 



THOMAS CAREW 



177 



SONG 

Would you know what's soft? I dare 
Not bring you to the down, or air, . 
Nor to stars to show what 's bright. 
Nor to snow to teach you white; 

Nor, if you would music hear, 
Call the orbs to take your ear; 
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth 
Bruised nard, or what 's more worth ; 

Or on food were your thoughts placed, 
Bring you nectar for a taste; 
Would you have all these in one, 
Name my mistress, and 't is done . 



THE PROTESTATION 

No more shall meads be decked with flow- 
ers, 
NcJr sweetness dwell in rosy bowers. 
Nor greenest buds on branches spring. 
Nor warbling birds delight to sing, 
Nor April violets paint the grove, S 

If I forsake my Celia's love. 

The fish shall in the ocean burn, 
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn, 
The humble oak no flood shall know 
When floods shall highest hills o'erflow, 10 
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave. 
If e'er my Celia I deceive. 

Love shall his bow and shaft lay by, 
And Venus' doves want wings to fly. 
The Sun refuse to show his light, iS 

And day shall then be turned to night. 
And in that night no star appear, 
If once I leave my Celia dear. 

Love shall no more inhabit earth. 

Nor lovers more shall love for worth, 20 

Nor joy above in heaven dwell, 

Nor pain torment poor souls in hell. 

Grim death no more shall horrid prove, 

If e'er I leave bright Celia's love. 



PERSUASIONS TO JOY: A SONG 

If the quick spirits in your eye 
Now languish and anon must die; 
If every sweet and every grace 
Must fly from that forsaken face; 



Then, Celia, let us reap our joys s 
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys. 

Or if that golden fleece must grow 

For ever free from aged snow; 

If those bright suns must know no shade, 

Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; 10 

Then fear not, Celia, to bestow 
What, still being gathered, still must 
grow. 

Thus either Time his sickle brings 
In vain, or else in vain his wings. 



INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREAT- 
ENED 

Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, 
'T was I that gave thee thy renown. 

.Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd 
Of common beauties lived unknown. 

Had not my verse extolled thy name, 5 

And with it imped the wings of Fame. 

That killing power is none of thine: 
I gave it to thy voice and eyes ; 

Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine ; 

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies ; 10 

Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere 

Lightning on him that fixed thee there. 

Tempt me with such affrights no more, 

Lest what I made I uncreate ; 
Let fools thy mystic form adore, is 

I know thee in thy mortal state. 
Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales. 
Knew her themselves through all her veils. 



AN EPITAPH 

This little vault, this narrow room, 
Of love and beauty is the tomb; 
The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear 
Our clouded sky, lies darkened here, 
For ever set to us : by death S 

Sent to enflame the world beneath. 
'T was but a bud, yet did contain 
More sweetness than shall spring again; 
A budding star, that might have grown 
Into a sun when it had blown. i» 

This hopeful beauty did create 
New life in love's declining state; 
But now his empire ends, and we 
From fire and wounding darts are free; 
His brand, his bow, let no man fear : 5 
The flames, the arrows, all lie here. 



178 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT 
(I 606-1 668) 

SONG 

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, 
And climbing, shakes his dewy wings. 

He takes this window for the East, 
And to implore your light he sings — 

Awake, awake! the morn will never rise 5 

Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. 

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, 

The ploughman from the sun his season 

takes ; 

But still the lover wonders what they are 

Who look for day before his mistress 

. wakes. ^° 

Awake, awake ! break thro' your veils of 

lawn ! 
And draw your curtains, and begin the 
dawn ! 



PRAISE AND PRAYER 

Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds, 
The diff'ring world's agreeing sacrifice; 

Where Heaven divided faiths united finds: 
But prayer in various discord upward 
flies. 

For Prayer the ocean is where diversely 5 
Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral 
coast ; 
Where all our interests so discordant be 
That half beg winds by which the rest 
are lost. 

By penitence when we ourselves forsake, 
'Tis but in wise design on piteous 
Heaven; '° 

In praise we nobly give what God may 
take, 
And are, without a beggar's blush, for- 
given. ' 



EDMUND WALLER (1606-1687) 

THE STORY OF PHCEBUS AND 
DAPHNE APPLIED 

Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train. 
Fair Sacharissa loved, but loved in vain. 
Like Phoebus sung the no less amorous boy; 
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy ! 
With numbers he the flying nymph pur- 
sues, ■ s 



With numbers such as Phoebus' self might 

use! 
Such is the chase when Love and Fancy 

leads. 
O'er craggy mountains, and through flow- 
ery meads ; 
Invoked to testify the lover's care. 
Or form some image of his cruel fair. 10 
Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer, 
O'er these he fled; and now approaching 

near. 
Had reached the nymph with his hai-moni- 

ous lay. 
Whom all his charms could not incline to 

stay. 
Yet, what he sung in his immortal strain. 
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain; 
All, but the nymph that should redress his 

wrong, 17 

Attend his passion, and approve his song. 
Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought 

praise. 
He catched at love, and filled his arms with 

bays. * 20 

TO PHYLLIS 

Phyllis ! why should we delay 
Pleasures shorter than the day? 
Could we (which we never can) 
Stretch our lives beyond their span, 
Beauty like a shadow flies, S 

And our youth before us dies. 
Or would youth and beauty stay. 
Love hath wings, and will away. 
Love hath swifter wings than Time; 
Change in love to heaven does climb. 10 
Gods that never change their state. 
Vary oft their love and hate. 

Phyllis ! to this truth we owe 
All the love betwixt us two. 
Let not you and I inquire 'S 

What has been our past desire ; 
On what shepherds you have smiled, 
Or what nymphs I have beguiled; 
Leave it to the planets too. 
What we shall hereafter do; 20 

For the joys we now may prove. 
Take advice of present love. 



ON A GIRDLE 

That which her slender waist confined, 
Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
No monarch but would give his crown, 
His arms might do what this has done. 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING 



179 



It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 5 
The pale which held that lovely deer. 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love. 
Did all within this circle move ! 

A narrow compass ! and yet there 
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair ; 
Give me but what this ribband bound, n 
Take all the rest the sun goes round. 



GO LOVELY ROSE! 

Go, lovely Rose ! 

Tell her that wastes her time and me. 

That now she knows. 

When I resemble her to thee. 

How sweet and fair she seems to be. 5 

Tell her that 's young. 

And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That hadst thou sprung 

In deserts, where no men abide, 

ThOu must have uncommended died. 1° 

Small is the worth 

Of beauty from the light retired; 

Bid her come forth. 

Suffer herself to be desired. 

And not blush so to be admired. 15 

Then die ! that she 

The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee; 

How small a part of time they share 

That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 20 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING (1609-1642) 

A DOUBT OF MARTYRDOM 

O for some honest lover's ghost. 
Some kind unbodied post 

Sent from the shades below ! 

I strangely long to know 
Whether the noble chaplets wear, 5 

Those that their mistress' scorn did bear 

Or those that were used kindly. 

For whatsoe'er they tell us here 
To make those sufferings dear, 

'Twill there, I fear, be found 10 

That to the being crowned 
T' have loved alone will not suffice, 
Unless we also have been wise 

And have our loves enjoyed. 



What posture can we think him in 15 

That, here unloved, again 
Departs, and 's thither gone 
Where each sits by his own? 

Or how can that Elysium be 

Where I my mistress still must see 2c 

Circled in other's arms? 

Fof there the judges all are just. 
And Sophonisba must 

Be his whom she held dear, 

Not his who loved her here. 21 

The sweet Philoclea, since she died. 

Lies by her Pirocles his side, 
Not by Amphialus. 

Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough 
For difference crowns the brow 3° 

Of those kind souls that were 

The noble martyrs here : 
And if that be the only odds 
(As who can tell?), ye kinder gods, 

Give me the woman here! 3? 



THE CONSTANT LOVER 

Out upon it, I have loved 
Three whole days together ! 

And am like to love three more. 
If it prove fair weather. 

Time shall moult away his wings S 

Ere he shall discover 
In the whole wide world again 

Such a constant lover. 

But the spite on 't is, no praise 

Is due at all to me: 10 

Love with me had made no stays, 
Had it any been but she. 

Had it any been but she. 

And that very face, 
There had been at least ere this iS 

A dozen dozen in her place. 



WHY SO PALE AND WAN? 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 

Prithee, why so pale? 
Will, when looking well can't move her. 

Looking ill prevail? 

Prithee, why so pale? S 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 
Prithee, why so mute? 



i8o 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
Saying nothing do 't? 
Prithee, why so mute? lo 

Quit, quit for shame! This will not move; 
This cannot take her. 

If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her : ^ 

The devil take her! 15 



RICHARD CRASHAW (i6i3?-i649) 

IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OUR 
LORD GOD 

a hymn sung as by the shepherds 

Chorus 
Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight 
Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night ; 
Come, lift we up our loftier song 
And wake the sun that lies too long. 

To all our world of well-stol'n joy s 
He slept, and dreamt of no such thing; 

While we found out heaven's fairer eye 
And kissed the cradle of our King. 

Tell him he rises now, too late 
To show us aught worth looking at. 10 

Tell him we now can show him more 
Than he e'er showed to mortal sight ; 

Than he himself e'er saw before; 
Which to be seen needs not his light. 

Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been is 
Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen. 

Tityrus. Gloomy night embraced the place 
Where the noble infant lay, 

The babe looked up and showed 

his face; 

In spite of darkness, it was day. 20 

It was thy day, sweet ! and did rise 

Not from the east, but from thine 

eyes. 

Chorus. It was thy day, sweet, etc. 

Thyrsis. Winter chid aloud; and sent 

The angry North to wage his wars. 
The North forgot his fierce in- 
tent ; 26 
And left perfumes instead of scars. 
By those sweet eyes' persuasive 
powers, 
Where he meant frost he scattered 
flowers. 



Cho. By those sweet eyes', etc. 30 

Both. We saw thee in thy balmy nest, 
Young dawn of our Eternal Day! 
We saw thine eyes break from 
their east 
And chase the trembling shades away. 
We saw thee, and we blest the 
sight, 35 

We saw thee by thine own sweet 
light. 

Tit. Poor World, said I, what wilt thou do 
To entertain this starry stranger? 

Is this the best thou canst bestow? 

A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? 

Contend, the powers of heaven and 

earth, 41 

To fit a bed for this huge birth ! 

Cho. Contend the powers, etc. 

Thyr. Proud World, said I ; cease your 
contest 
And let the mighty babe alone ; 45 
The phoenix builds the phoenix' 
nest. 
Love's architecture is his own ; 

The babe whose birth embraves 
this morn. 
Made his own bed e'er he was born. 



Cho. The babe whose, etc. 



so 



Tit. I saw the curled drops, soft and slow. 
Come hovering o'er the place's head ; 
Off'ring their whitest sheets of 
snow 
To furnish the fair infant's bed. 

Forbear, said I ; be not too bold.; 

Your fleece is white, but 't is too 

cold. 56 

Cho. Forbear, said I, etc. 

Thyr. I saw the obsequious seraphim 
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, 
For well they now can spare their 
wing, 60 

Since heaven itself lies here below. 
Well done, said I; but are yon 
sure 
Your down so warm, will pass foi 
pure? 

Cho. Well done, said I, etc. 

Tit. No, no, your king 's not yet to seek 65 
Where to repose his royal head; 
See, see how soon his new-bloomed 
cheek 



SIR JOHN DENHAM 



i8i 



'Twixt 's mother's breasts is gone to 

bed! 
Sweet choice, said we ! no way but 

so 
Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow. 7o 

Cho. Sweet choice, said we, etc. 

Both. We saw thee in thy balmy nest. 
Bright dawn of our Eternal Day! 
We saw thine eyes break from their 
east 
' And chase the trembling shades 
away. 7S 

We saw thee, and we blest the 
sight. 
We saw thee by thine own sweet 
light. 

Cho. We saw thee, etc. 

Full Chorus 

Welcome all wonders in one night ! 
Eternity shut in a span, 80 

Summer in winter, day in night. 
Heaven in earth, and God in man. 

Great Little One, whose all-embracing 
birth 
Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to 
earth ! 

Welcome, though nor to gold nor silk, 85 
To more than Csesar's birthright is ; 

Two sister-seas of virgin-milk 
With many a rarely-tempered kiss 

That breathes at once both maid and 
mother, 
Warms in the one, cools in the other. 90 

Welcome, though not to those gay flies 
Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings. 

Slippery souls in smiling eyes. 
But to poor shepherds, homespun things. 

Whose wealth 's their flock, whose wit 's 
to be 95 

Well read in their simplicity. 

Yet when young April's husband showers 
Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed. 

We '11 bring the first-born of her flowers 
To kiss thy feet and crown thy head. ^°° 

To thee, dread Lamb! Whose love must 
keep 
The shepherds, more than they the sheep. 

To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King 
Of simple graces and sweet loves ! 



Each of us his lamb will bring, 105 

Each his pair of silver doves! 

Till burnt at la'st iij ftre of thy fair eyes, 
Ourselves become oUf ■ . • - -ince ! 



SIR JOHN DENHAM (1615-1669) 

From COOPER'S HILL 

My eye, descending from the hill, surveys 
Where Thames amongst the wanton val- 
leys strays ; 
Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean's 

sons. 
By his old sire, to his embraces runs. 
Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, 5 

Like mortal life to meet eternity; 
Though with those streams he no resem- 
blance hold, 
Whose foam is amber, and their gravel 

, gold. 
His genuine and less guilty wealth t' ex- 
plore, 
Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, 
O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious 
wing, II 

And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring; 
Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay, 
Like mothers which their infants overlay, 
Nor, with a sudden and impetuous wave, 15 
Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he 

gave ; 
No unexpected inundations spoil 
The mower's hopes, nor mock the plough- 
man's toil. 
But godlike his unwearied bounty flows, 
First loves to do, then loves the good he 
does ; ^o 

Nor are his blessings to his banks con- 
fined. 
But free and common as the sea or wind ; 
When he to boast or to disperse his stores, 
Full of the tributes of his grateful shores. 
Visits the world, and in his flying towers. 
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies 
ours, 26 

Finds wealth where 't is, bestows it where 

it wants. 
Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants ; 
So that to us no thing, no place is strange. 
While his fair bosom is the world's ex- 
change. 30 
O could I flow like thee, and make thy 

stream 
My great example, as it is my theme ! 



1 82 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet 
not dull, 

Stro:;g without rage, wiuicut o'erflowing 

ful!- • 



ON MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY'S DEATH 

AND BURIAL AMONGST THE AN- 
CIENT POETS 

Old Chaucer, like the morning star, 
To us discovers day from far. 
His light those mists and clouds dissolved, 
Which our dark nation long involved ; 
But he de-scending to the shades, s 

Darkness again the age invades. 
Next, like Aurora, Spenser rose. 
Whose purple blush the day foreshows; 
The other three, with his own fires 
Phoebus, the poets' god inspires; lo 

By Shakspere's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines. 
Our stage's luster Rome's outshines: 
These poets near our princes sleep. 
And in one grave their mansion keep; 
They lived to see so many days, is 

Till time had blasted all their bays; 
But cursed be the fatal hour 
That plucked the fairest, sweetest flower 
That in the muses' garden grew, 
And amongst withered laurels threw. 20 
Time, which made them their fame out- 
live. 
To Cowley scarce did ripeness give. 
Old mother wit, and Nature, gave 
Shakspere and Fletcher all they have; 
In Spenser, and in Jonson, Art 25 

Of slower Nature got the start; 
But both in him so equal are, 
None knows which bears the happiest 

share; 
To him no author was unknown, 
Yet what he wrote was all his own ; 3° 
He melted not the ancient gold. 
Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold 
To plunder all the Roman stores 
Of poets, and of orators: 
Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, 35 

He did not steal, but emulate : 
And when he would like them appear, 
Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear : 
He not from Rome alone, but Greece, 
Like Jason brought the golden fleece ; 4° 
To him that language, though to none 
Of th' others, as his own was known. 
On a stiff gale, as Flaccus sings. 
The Theban swan extends his wings, 
When through th' ethereal clouds he flies, 



To the same pitch our swan doth rise. 4^ 

Old Pindar's flights by him are reached. 

When on that gale his wings are stretched. 

His fancy and his judgment such, 

Each to the other seemed too much, so 

His severe judgment, giving law, 

His modest fancy, kept in awe. 

As rigid husbands jealous are 

When they believe their wives too fair. 



RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658) 
TO LUCASTA GOING TO THE WARS 

Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind. 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 

To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase, s 

The first foe in the field; 
And with a stronger faith embrace 

A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 

As thou too shalt adore; 10 

I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 

Loved I not Honor more. 



TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON 

When Love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates. 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at the grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair S 

And fettered to her eye, 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 1° 

Our careless heads with roses bound. 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep. 

When healths and draughts go free. 
Fishes that tipple in the deep '5 

Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 
With shriller throat will sing 

The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my king; 20 



ABRAHAM COWLEY 



183 



When I shall voice aloud how good 
He is, how great should be, 

Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 
Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 2s 

Nor iron bars a cage; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage ; 
If I have freedom in my love 

And in my soul am free, 3° 

Angels alone, that soar above. 

Enjoy such liberty. 



THE ROSE 

Sweet, serene, sky-like flower. 

Haste to adorn her bower, 
From thy long cloudy bed 
Shoot forth thy damask head. 

New-startled blush of Flora, s 

The grief of pale Aurora 
(Who will contest no more), 
Haste, haste to strew her floor ! 

Vermilion ball that 's given 

From lip to lip in heaven, ic> 

Love's couch's coverled. 
Haste, haste to make her bed. 

Dear offspring of pleased Venus 
And jolly plump Silenus, 

Haste, haste to deck the hair 15 

Of th' only sweetly fair ! 

See ! rosy is her bower, 
Her floor is all this flower, 

Her bed a rosy nest 

By a bed of roses pressed! 20 

But early as she dresses, 
Why fly you her bright tresses? 
Ah ! I have found, I Jear, — 
Because her cheeks are near. 



TO LUCASTA 

Lucasta, frown, and let me die ! 

But smile, and, see, I live ! 
The sad indifference of your eye 

Both kills and doth reprieve ; 
You hide our fate within its screen ; 

We feel our judgment, e'er we hear; 
So in one picture I have seen 

An angel here, the devil there ! 



ABRAHAM COWLEY (1618-1667) 

THE SWALLOW 

Foolish Prater, what do'st thou 
So early at my window do 
With thy tuneless serenade? 
Well 't had been had Tereus made 
Thee as dumb as Philomel : S 

There his knife had done but well. 
In thy undiscovered nest 
Thou dost all the winter rest. 
And dreamest o'er thy summer joys, 
Free from the stormy season's noise : 10 
Free from th' ill thou 'st done to me ; 
Who disturbs, or seeks out thee? 
Had'st thou all the charming notes 
Of the wood's poetic throats. 
All thy art could never pay is 

What thou 'st ta'en from me away ; 
Cruel bird, thou 'st ta'en away 
A dream out of my arms to-day, 
A dream that ne'er must equaled be 
By all that waking eyes may see. 2a 

Thou this damage to repair. 
Nothing half so sweet or fair. 
Nothing half so good can'st bring. 
Though men say, 'Thou bring'st the 
spring?' 



THE WISH 

Well then ! I now do plainly see 
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree. 
The very honey of all earthly joy 
Does of all meats the soonest cloy; 

And they, methinks, deserve my pity S 
Who for it can endure the stings. 
The crowd and buzz and murmurings. 

Of this great hive, the city. 

Ah, yet, ere I descend to the grave 

May I a small house and large garden 

have; 
And a few friends, and many books, both 

true, II 

Both wise, and both delightful too ! 

And since love ne'er will from me flee, 
A mistress moderately fair, 
And good as guardian angels are, 15 

Only beloved and loving me. 

O fountains! when in you shall I 
Myself eased of unpeaceful thoughts espy? 
O fields ! O. woods ! when, when shall I be 
made 



i84 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



The happy tenant of your shade? '° 

Here 's the spring-head of pleasure's 
flood : 

Here 's wealthy Nature's treasury. 

Where all the riches lie that she 

Has coined and stamped for good. 

Pride and ambition here 25 

Only in far-fetched metaphors appear; 
Here naught but winds can hurtful mur- 
murs scatter, 
And naught but Echo flatter. 

The gods, when they descended, hither 
From heaven did always choose their way : 
And therefore we may boldly say 31 

That 't is the way too thither. 

How happy here should I 
And one dear She live, and embracing die! 
She who is all the world, and can exclude 
In deserts solitude. 36 

I should have then this only fear: 
Lest men, when they my pleasures see, 
Should hither throng to live like me, 

And so make a city here. 40 



ANDREW MARVEL (1621-1678) 

THE GARDEN 

How vainly men themselves amaze. 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays. 
And their incessant labors see 
Crowned from some single herb or tree 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade S 
Does prudently their toils upbraid. 
While all the flowers and trees do close 
To weave the garlands of repose ! 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 

And Innocence, thy sister dear? 10 

Mistaken long, I sought you then 

In busy companies of men. 

Your sacred plants, if here below. 

Only among the plants will grow; 

Society is all but rude 15 

To this delicious solitude. 

No white nor red was ever seen 

So amorous as this lovely green. 

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame. 

Cut in these trees their mistress' name. 20 

Little, alas ! they know or heed, 

How far these beauties hers exceed! 



Fair trees! wheres'e'r your barks I wound 
No name shall but your own be found. 

When we have run our passion's heat, ^s 

Love hither makes his best retreat. 

The gods, that mortal beauty chase, 

Still in a tree did end their race ; 

Apollo hunted Daphne so. 

Only that she might laurel grow; 30 

And Pan did after Syrinx speed. 

Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 

What wondrous life is this I lead ! 

Ripe apples drop about my head; 

The luscious clusters of the vine >5 

Upon my mouth do crush their wine; 

The nectarine, and curious peach. 

Into my hands themselves do reach; 

Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 

Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 40 

Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, 
Withdraws into its happiness ; — 
The mind, that ocean where each kind 
Does straight its own resemblance find ; 
Yet it creates, transcending these, 4S 

Far other worlds, and other seas, 
Annihilating all that 's made 
To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot, 

Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 5° 

Casting the body's vest aside. 

My soul into the boughs does glide : 

There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 

Then whets and combs its silver wings. 

And, till prepared for longer flight, 55 

Waves in its plumes the various light. 

Such was that happy garden-state. 

While man there walked without a mate 

After a place so pure and sweet, 

What other help could yet be meet ! 60 

But 't was beyond a mortal's share 

To wander solitary there : 

Two paradises 't were in one. 

To live in paradise alone. 

How well the skilful gardener drew ^s 

Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new; 
Where, from above, the milder sun 
Does through a fragrant zodiac run, 
And, as it works, the industrious bee 
Computes its time as well as we ! 70 

How could, such sweet and wholesome 

hours 
Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers? 



HENRY VAUGHAN 



185 



TO HIS COY MISTRESS 

Had we but world enough, and time, 

This coyness. Lady, were no crime, 

We would sit down and think which way 

To walk and pass our long love's day. 

Thou by the Indian Ganges' side 5 

Shouldst rubies find ; I by the tide 

Of Humber would complain. I would 

Love you ten years before the Flood, 

And you should, if you please, refuse 

Till the conversion of the Jews. 10 

My vegetable love should grow 

Vaster than empires, and more slow ; 

An hundred years should go to praise 

Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze ; 

Two hundred to adore each breast, is 

But thirty thousand to the rest; 

An age at least to every part, 

And the last age should show your heart. 

For, Lady, you deserve this state, 

Nor would I love at lower rate. 20 

But at my back I always hear 
Time's winged chariot hurrying near; 
And yonder all before us lie 
Deserts of vast eternity. 
Thy beauty shall no more be found, 25 

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound 
My echoing song; then worms shall try 
(That long preserved virginity, 
And your quaint honor turn to dust, 
And into ashes all my lust : 30 

The grave 's a fine and private place, 
But none, I think, do there embrace. 

Now therefore, while the youthful hue 
Sits on thy skin like morning dew. 
And while thy willing soul transpires 35 
At every pore with instant fires. 
Now let us sport us while we may, 
And now, like amorous birds of prey. 
Rather at once our time devour 
Than languish in his slow-chapt power. 40 
Let us roll all our strength and all 
Our sweetness up into one ball. 
And tear our pleasures with rough strife 
Thorough the iron gates of life: 
Thus, though we cannot make our sun 45 
Stand still, yet we will make him run. 



HENRY VAUGHAN (1622-1695) 

THE RETREAT 

Happy those early days, when I 
Shined in my angel-infancy! 
Before I understood this place 



Appointed for my second race, 

Or taught my sou! to fancy aught S 

But a white, celestial thought ; 

When yet I had not walked above 

A mile or two from my first love. 

And looking back, at that short space. 

Could see a glimpse of his bright face; i" 

When on some gilded cloud or flower 

My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 

And in those weaker glories spy 

Some shadows of eternity; 

Before I taught my tongue to wound 'S 

My conscience with a sinful sound, 

Or had the black art to dispense, 

A several sin to every sense. 

But felt through all this fleshly dress 

Bright shoots of everlastingness. 20 

O, how I long to travel back. 
And tread again that ancient track, 
That I might once more reach that plain. 
Where first I left my glorious train ; 
From whence the enlightened spirit sees 25 
That shady city of palm trees. 
But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
Is drunk, and staggers in the way! 
Some men a forward motion love, 
But I by backward steps would move; 30 
And when this dust falls to the urn, 
In that state I came, return. 



THE WORLD 

I saw Eternity the other night, 

Like a great ring of pure and endless light. 

All calm, as it was bright ; 
And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, 
years, 
Driv'n by the spheres S 

Like a vast shadow moved ; in which the 
world 
And all her train were hurled. 
The doting lover in his quaintest strain 

Did there complain ; 
Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his 
flights, 10 

Wit's four delights, 
With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of 
pleasure. 
Yet his dear treasure. 
All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour 
Upon a flower. is 

The darksome statesman, hung with weights 

and woe. 
Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so 
slow, 
He did not stay, nor go; 



1 86 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 



Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, 
scowl 

Upon his soul, ^° 

And clouds of crying witnesses without 

Pursued him with one shout. 
Yet digged the mole, and lest his ways be 
found, 

Worked under ground, 
Where he did clutch his prey; but one did 
see ■^s 

That policy; 
Churches and altars fed him ; perjuries 

Were gnats and flies; 
It rained about him blood and tears, but he 

Drank them as free. 3o 

The fearful miser on a heap of rust 
Sat pining all his life there, did scarce 
trust 
His own hands with the dust, 
Yet would not place one piece above, but 
lives 
In fear of thieves. 3S 

Thousands there were as frantic as him- 
self, 
And hugged each one his pelf; 
The downright epicure placed heaven in 
sense, 
And scorned pretence ; 
While others, slipt into a wide excess, 4° 

Said little less ; 
The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares en- 
slave, 
Who think them brave; 
And poor, despised Truth sat counting by 
Their victory. 45 

Yet some, who all this while did v/eep and 

sing. 
And sing and weep, soared up into the 
ring ; 
But most would use no wing. 
O fools, said I, thus to prefer dark night 
Before true light! so 

To live in grots and caves, and hate the 
day 
Because it shows the way. 
The way, which from this dead and dark 
abode 
Leads up to God ; 
A way there you might tread the sun, and 
be 55 

More bright than he! 
But, as I did their madness so discuss. 

One whispered thus 
'This ring the Bridegroom, did for none 
provide. 
But for his bride.' ^° 



DEPARTED FRIENDS 

They are all gone into the world of light! 

And I alone sit lingering here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright. 

And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, S 
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 

Or those faint beams in which this hill is 
drest, 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory. 

Whose light doth trample on my days: i«> 

My days, which are at best but dull and 
hoary. 
Mere glimmering and decays. 

O holy Hope ! and high Humility, 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have showed 
them me, 'S 

To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the 
just. 

Shining nowhere, but in the dark. 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 

Could man outlook that mark! 20 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, 
may know 
At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair well or grove he sings in 
now. 
That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams 
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep, 26 

So some strange thoughts transcend our 
wonted themes, 
And into glory peep. 

If a star were confined into a tomb, 
The captive flames must needs burn 
there ; 3o 

But when the hand that locked her up, gives 
room. 
She '11 shine through all the sphere. 

O Father of eternal life, and all 

Created glories under Thee, 
Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall 

Into true liberty. 3^ 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and 
fill 

My perspective still as they pass; 
Or else remove me hence unto that hill, 

Where I shall need no glass. 4° 



FRANCIS BACON (1561-1626) 

Bacon was connected through both his parents with the governing classes. His father was 
lord keeper of the great seal, and the queen used to call the boy her ' young lord keeper.' At 
twelve he went to Trinity College, Cambridge, and as a youth he studied law at Gray's Inn. 
He was in the diplomatic service at Paris when his father died, leaving him but ill provided 
for. In 1584 he was elected to the House of Commons, but in spite of conspicuous ability 
. and powerful connections, his political preferment was slow. He became solicitor-general in 
1607, attorney-general 1613, privy councillor 1616, lord keeper 1617, lord chancellor and baron 
Verulam 1618, viscount St. Albans 1621. But hostile political influences in this last year 
brought about his fall. He was accused of bribery, and admitted receiving gifts, but denied 
that they had influenced him in the administration of justice. He was deprived of all his 
offices, fined £200,000, imprisoned, and excluded from court and parliament. All the penalties 
except the last were immediately remitted by the king, but he was not allowed to return to 
public life. He retired to the estate he had inherited from his elder brother, and gave himself 
to literature and philosophy, which had always occupied his leisure. While still a young man, 
he said, ' I have as vast contemplative ends as I have moderate civil ends : for I have taken all 
knowledge to -be my province.' The Advancement of Learning, published in English in 1605, 
is mainly an attempt to review what was then known ; the Islovum Organum (in Latin, 
1620) is an exposition of the means by which the bounds of knowledge may be extended. 
His philosophical work was of great influence on account of the stress he laid on observation 
of facts and the testing of hypothesis by experiment. He met his death through a chill con- 
tracted by leaving his coach on a winter's day to gather snow to stuff a fowl in order to try the 
effect of cold on the preservation of meat. His History of Henry VII (1622) is an important 
work, but his most notable contribution to literature was the Essays — a title probably sug- 
gested by the French Essais of Montaigne (1580). Bacon's first edition of 10 essays appeared 
in 1.597, an enlarged edition, containing 38, in 1612, and the final issue (58 essays) in 1625. 
Though they reveal only at times the philosophical bent of Bacon's genius, they illustrate fully 
the extraordinary keenness of his mind, his practical worldly wisdom, and the terse incisive- 
ness of his style. 



ESSAYS Grecians examineth the matter, and is 

at a stand to think what should be in it, 
" I. — OF TRUTH that men should love lies: where neither 

they make for pleasure, as with poets; 
'What is truth?' said jesting Pilate; 5 nor for advantage, as with the merchant; 
and would not stay for an answer. Cer- but for the lie's sake. But I cannot 
tainly "there be that delight in giddiness, tell : this same truth is a naked and open 
and count it a bondage to fix a belief, daylight, that doth not show the masques, 
affecting free-will in thinking, as well as and mummeries, and triumphs of the 
in acting. And though the sects of lo world half so stately and daintily as 
philosophers of that kind be gone, yet candle-lights. Truth may perhaps come 
there remain certain discoursing wits to the price of a pearl, that showeth 
which are of the same veins, though there best by day; but it will not rise to the 
be not so much blood in them as was in price of a diamond or carbuncle, that 
those of the ancients. But it is not only i5 showeth best in varied lights. A mix- 
the difficulty and labor which men take ture of a lie doth ever add pleasure, 
in finding out of truth; nor again, that Doth any man doubt that if there were 
when it is found, it imposeth upon men's taken out of men's minds vain opinions, 
thoughts, that doth bring lies in favor: flattering hopes, false valuations, im- 
buta natural though corrupt love of the 20 aginations as one would, and the like, 
lie itself. One of the later school of the but it would leave the minds of a number 

187 



FRANCIS BACON 



sen poor shrunken things, full of the belly, and not upon the feet. There 
vilancholy and indisposition, and un- is no vice that doth so cover a man with 
pleasing to themselves? One of the shame as to be found false and per- 
fathers, in great severity, called poesy fidious; and therefore Montaigne saith 
vinum daemomtm [devils' vi^ine], because 5 prettily, when he inquired the reason 
it filleth the imagination, and yet it is but why the word of the lie should be such 
with the shadow of a lie. But it is not a disgrace, and such an odious charge, 
the lie that passeth through the mind, 'If it be well weighed, to say that a man 
but the lie that sinketh in and settleth lieth, is as much as to say that he is 
in it that doth the hurt, such as we spake lo brave towards God, and a coward 
of before. But howsoever these things towards man.' For a lie faces God, and 
are thus in men's depraved judgments shrinks from man. Surely the wicked- 
and affections, yet truth, which only ness of falsehood and breach of faith 
doth judge itself, teacheth that the in- cannot possibly be so highly expressed as 
quiry of truth, which is the love-making, 15 in that it shall be the last peal to call the 
or wooing of it; the knowledge of truth, judgments of God upon the generations 
which is the presence of it; and the be- of men: it being foretold, that when 
lief of truth, which is the enjoying of Christ cometh, ' he shall not find faith 
it, is the sovereign good of human upon the earth.' 
nature. The first creature of God, in the 20 
works of the days, was the light of the 

sense; the last was the light of reason; V. — OF ADVERSITY 

and his Sabbath work, ever since, is the 

illumination of his spirit. First he It was a high speech of Seneca, after 

breathed light upon the face of the 25 the manner of the Stoics, that ' the good 
matter, or chaos; then he breathed light things which belong to prosperity are to 
into the face of man; and still he be wished, but the good things that be- 
breatheth and inspireth light into the long to adversity are to be admired.' 
face of his chosen. The poet, that Bona rerum seciindarum optahilia, ad- 
beautified the sect, that was otherwise 30 versarum mirahilia. Certainly if mira- 
inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently cles be the command over Nature, they 
well, ' It is a pleasure to stand upon the appear most in adversity. It is yet a 
shore, and to see ships tost upon the sea; higher speech of his than the other, 
a pleasure to stand in the window of a much too high for a heathen, ' It is true 
castle, and to see a battle, and the ad- 35 greatness to have in one the frailty of 
ventures thereof below; but no pleasure a man and the security of a God' (Vere 
is comparable to the standing upon the magnum, habere fragilitatem hominis, 
vantage ground of truth (a hill not to be securitatem Dei). This would have done 
commanded, and where the air is always better in poesy, where transcendencies 
clear and serene), and to see the errors, 40 are more allowed. And the poets, in- 
and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, deed, have been busy with it; for it is in 
in the vale below'; so always that this effect the thing which is figured in that 
prospect be with pity, and not with strange fiction of the ancient poets which 
swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven seemeth not to be without mystery; nay, 
upon earth to have a man's mind move 45 and to have some approach to the state 
in charity, rest in providence, and turn of a christian: that Hercules, when he 
upon the poles of truth. went to unbind Prometheus, by whom 

To pass from theological and philo- human nature is represented, sailed the 
sophical truth to the truth of civil busi- length of the great ocean in an earthen 
ness, it will be acknowledged, even by 50 pot or pitcher ; lively describing chris- 
those that practice it not, that clear and tian resolution that saileth in the frail 
round dealing is the honor of man's bark of the flesh through the waves of 
nature, and that mixture of falsehood is the world. But to speak in a mean, the 
like alloy in coin of gold and silver, virtue of prosperity is temperance, the 
which may make the metal work the 55 virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in 
better, but it embaseth it ; for these wind- morals is the more heroical virtue. 
ing and crooked courses are the goings Prosperity is the blessing of the Old 
of the serpent, which goeth basely upon Testament, adversity is the blessing of 



ESSAYS 189 

the New, which carrieth the greater made wantons; but in the midst, some 
benediction and the clearer revelation of that are as it were forgotten, who, many 
God's favor. Yet, even in the Old Testa- times, nevertheless, prove the best. The 
nient, if you listen to David's harp you illiberality of parents, in allowance to- 
shall hear as many hearse-like airs as 5 wards their children, is a harmful error, 
carols. And the pencil of the Holy and makes them base, acquaints them 
Ghost hath labored more in describing the with shifts, makes them sort with mean 
afflictions of Job than the felicities of company, and makes them surfeit more 
Solomon. Prosperity is not without many when they come to plenty ; and there- 
fears and distastes, and adversity is not to fore the proof is best when men keep 
without comforts and hopes. We see in their authority towards their children, 
needleworks and embroideries it is more but not their purse. Men have a foolish 
pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad manner (both parents, and schoolmasters, 
and solemn ground than to have a dark and servants), in creating and breeding 
and melancholy work upon a lightsome 15 an emulation between brothers during 
ground. Judge, therefore, of the pleas- childhood, which many times sorteth to 
ure of the heart by the pleasure of the discord when they are men, and disturb- 
eye. Certainly virtue is like precious eth families. The Italians make little 
odors, most fragrant when they are in- difference between children and nephews, 
censed or crushed; for prosperity doth 20 or near kinsfolk; but so they be of the 
best discover vice, but adversity doth best lump they care not, though they pass not 
discover virtue. through their own body. And, to say 

truth, in nature it is much a like mat- 
ter; insomuch that we see a nephew 

VIL— OF PARENTS AND CHIL- 25 sometimes resembleth an uncle, or a kins- 
DREN man, more than his own parent, as the 

blood happens. Let parents choose be- 

The joys of parents are secret, and so times the vocations and courses they 
are their griefs and fears; they cannot mean their children should take, for then 
utter the one, nor they will not utter the 30 they are most flexible ; and let them not 
other. Children sweeten labors, but they too much apply themselves to the dispo- 
make misfortunes more bitter; they in- sition of their children, as thinking they 
crease the cares of life, but they mitigate will take best to that which they have 
the remembrance of death. The per- most mind to. It is true, that if the af- 
petuity by generation is common toss fection, or aptness, of the children be 
beasts; but memory, and merit, and noble extraordinary, then it is good not to cross 
works are proper to men; and surely a it; but generally the precept is good, 
man shall see the noblest works and Optimum elige, suave et facile illud faciei 
foundations have proceeded from child- consuetudo [Choose the best; custom will 
less men, which have sought to express 40 make it pleasant and easy]. Younger 
the images of their minds where those of brothers are commonly fortunate, but 
their bodies have failed; so the care of seldom or never where the elder are dis- 
posterity is most in them that have no inherited, 
posterity. They that are the first raisers 
of their houses are most indulgent 45 

towards their children, beholding them VIIL— OF MARRIAGE AND SINGLE 
as the continuance, not only of their LIFE 

kind, but of their work, and so both chil- 
dren and creatures. He that hath wife and children hath 

The difference in affection of parents 50 given hostages to fortune ; for they are 
towards their several children is many impediments to great enterprises, either 
times unequal, and sometimes unworthy, of virtue or mischief. Certainly the best 
especially in the mother; as Solomon works, and of greatest merit for the 
saith, ' A wise son rejoiceth the father, public, have proceeded from the unmar- 
but an ungracious son shames the 55 ried or childless men, which, both in 
mother.' A man shall see, where there affection and means, have married and 
is a house full of children, one or two endowed the public. Yet it were great 
of the eldest respected, and the youngest reason that those that have children 



190 FRANCIS BACON 



should have greatest care of future times, jealous. ^Vives are young- men's mis- 
vmto which they know they must trans- tresses, companions for middle age, and 
mit their dearest pledges. old men's nurse^'so as a man may have 

Some there are, who, though they lead a quarrel to marry when he will. But 
a single life, yet their thoughts do end 5 yet he was reputed one of the wise men 
with themselves, and account future that made answer to the question when 
times ■ impertinences ; nay, there are some a man should marry, ' A young man not 
other that account wife and children but yet, an elder man not at all.' It is often 
as bills of charges. Nay, more, there seen that bad husbands have very good 
are some foolish rich covetous men that lo wives; whether it be that it raiseth the 
take a pride in having no children, be- price of their husband's kindness when 
cause they may be thought so much the it comes, or that the wives take a pride 
richer; for, perhaps, they have heard in their patience; but this never fails, 
some talk. * Such a one is a great rich if the bad husbands were of their own 
man,' and another except to it, ' Yea, 15 choosing, against their friends' consent ; 
but he hath a great charge of children,' for then they will be sure to make good 
as if it were an abatement to his riches, their own folly. 
But the most ordinary cause of a single 
life is liberty, especially in certain self- 
pleasing and humorous minds, which are 20 X. — OF LOVE 
so sensible of every restraint, as they will 

go near to think their girdles and gar- The stage is more beholden to love 

ters to be bonds and shackles. Unmar- than the life of man. For as to the 
ried men are best friends, best masters, stage love is ever a matter of comedies 
best servants, but not always best sub- 25 and now and then of tragedies, but in 
jects; for they are light to run away, life it doth much mischief, sometimes 
and almost all fugitives are of that con- like a siren, sometimes like a fury. You 
dition. A single life doth well with may observe that amongst all the great 
churchmen, for charity will hardly wa- and worthy persons whereof the memory 
ter the ground where it must first fill 30 remaineth, either ancient or recent, there 
a pool; It is indifferent for judges and is not one that hath been transported to 
magistrates, for if they be facile and the mad degree of love, which shows 
corrupt you shall have a servant five that great spirits and great business do 
times worse than a wife. For soldiers, keep out this weak passion. You must 
I find the generals commonly, in their 35 except, nevertheless, Marcus Antonius, 
hortatives, put men in mind of their the half-partner of the empire of Rome, 
wives and children. And I think the and Appius Claudius, the decemvir and 
despising of marriage amongst the Turks lawgiver; whereof the former was in- 
maketh the vulgar soldier more base, deed a voluptuous man and inordinate, 
Certainly, wife and children are a kind 40 but the latter was an austere and wise 
of discipline of humanity; and single man; and therefore it seems, though 
men, though they be many times more rarely, that love can find entrance, not 
charitable, because their means are less only into an open heart, but also into 
exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are a heart well fortified, if watch be not 
more cruel and hard-hearted, good to 45 vi^ell kept. It is a poor saying of Epi- 
make severe inquisitors, because their curus: Satis magnum alter alteri thea- 
tenderness is not so oft called upon, trmn smnus [We are to each other a 
Grave natures, led by custom, and there- theater large enough], as if man, made 
fore constant, are commonly loving hus- for the contemplation of heaven and all 
bands; as was said of Ulysses, ' V-etu- c,o noble objects, should do nothing- but 
lam suani praetulit immortalitati' [He kneel before a little idol and make him- 
preferred his old wife to immortality]. self subject, though not of the mouth, 
Chaste women are often proud and fro- as beasts are, yet of the eye, which was 
ward, as presuming upon the merit of given him for higher purposes. It is a 
their chastity. It is one of the best 55 strange thing to note the excess of this 
bonds, both of chastity and obedience, passion, and how it braves the nature 
in the wife if she think her husband wise, and value of things by this, that the 
which she will never do if she find him speaking in a perpetual hyperbole is 



ESSAYS 191 

comely in nothing but in love. Neither tion: question was asked of Demosthenes, 
is it merely in the phrase; for whereas it what was the chief part of an orator? 
hath been well said that the arch-flat- He answered, Action : what next ? ' Ac- 
terer, with whom all the petty flatterers tion: what next again? Action. He said 
have intelligence, is a man's self, cer- 5 it that knew it best, and had by nature 
tainly the lover is more. For there was himself no advantage in that he com- 
never proud man thought so absurdly mended. A strange thing, that that part 
well of himself as the lover doth of the of an orator which is but superficial, 
person loved, and, therefore, it was well and rather the virtue of a player, should 
said that it is impossible to love and to ^° be placed so high above those other no- 
be wise. Neither doth this weakness ble parts, of invention, elocution, and 
appear to others only, and not to the the rest — nay, almost alone, as if it were 
party loved, but to the loved most of all in all. But the reason is plain, 
all, except the love be reciprocal. For There is in human nature generally more 
it is a true rule that love is ever re- ^5 of the fool than of the wise ; and, there- 
warded either with the reciproque or fore, those faculties by which the fool- 
with an inward and secret contempt; by ish part of men's minds is taken are most 
how much the more men ought to beware potent. Wonderful like is the case of 
of this passion, which loseth not only boldness in civil business. What first? 
other things but itself. As for the other 20 — Boldness. What second and third? 
losses, the poet's relation doth well fig- — Boldness. And yet boldness is a 
ure them, that he that preferred Helena child of ignorance and baseness, far in- 
quitted the gifts of Juno and Pallas; for ferior to other parts. But, nevertheless, 
whosoever esteemeth too much of am- it doth fascinate and bind hand and foot 
orous affection quitteth both riches and ^^ those that are either shallow in judg- 
wisdom. This passion hath its floods in ment or weak in courage, which are the 
the very times of weakness, which are greatest • part — yea, and prevaileth with 
great prosperity and great adversity wise men at weak times. Therefore, we 
(though this latter hath been less ob- see it hath done wonders in popular 
served), both which times kindle love 3° states, but with senates and princes less; 
and make it more fervent, and, there- and more ever upon the first entrance 
fore, show it to be the child of folly, of bold persons into action than soon 
They do best who, if they cannot but after; for boldness is an ill keeper of 
admit love, yet make it keep quarter, and promise. Surely, as there are mounte- 
sever it wholly from their serious af- 35 banks for the natural body, so there are 
fairs and actions of life; for if it check mountebanks for the politic body; men 
once with business, it troubleth men's that undertake great cures, and perhaps 
fortunes and maketh men that they can have been lucky in two or three experi- 
nowise be true to their own ends. I ments, but want the grounds of science, 
know not how, but martial men are given 40 and therefore cannot hold out — nay, you 
to love; I think it is but as they are shall see a bold fellow many times do 
given to wine, for perils commonly ask Mahomet's miracle. Mahomet made the 
to be paid in pleasures. There is in people believe that he would call a hill 
ny.n's nature a secret inclination and to him, and from the top of it offer up 
motion towards love of others, which, if 45 his prayers for the observers of his law. 
it be not spent upon some one or a few. The people assembled; Mahomet called 
doth naturally spread itself towards the hill to come to him again and again; 
many, and maketh men become humane and when the hill stood still he was never 
and charitable, as it is seen sometimes in a whit abashed, but said, 'If the hill will 
friars, ^uptial love maketh mankind, 50 not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go 
friendly love perfecteth it, but wanton to the hill.' So these men, when they 
love corrupteth and embaseth it| have promised great matters, and failed 

most shamefully, yet, if they have the 

perfection of boldness, they will but slight 

Xn. — OF BOLDNESS 55 it over, and make a turn, and no more 

ado. Certainly to men of great judg- 

It is a trivial grammar-school text, ment bold persons are a sport to behold 

but yet worthy a wise man's considera- — nay, and to the vulgar also boldness 



192 FRANCIS BACON 



hath somewhat of the ridiculous; for if tion is the people; and in all superstition 
absurdity be the subject of laughter, wise men follow fools ; and arguments 
doubt you not but great boldness is sel- are fitted to practice in a reversed order, 
dom without some absurdity. Especially It was gravely said, by some of the prel- 
it is a sport to see when a bold fellow 5 ates in the Council of Trent, where the 
is out of countenance, for that puts his doctrine of the schoolmen bare great 
face into a most shrunken and wooden sway, that the schoolmen were like as- 
posture, as needs it must, for in bash- tronomers, which did feign eccentrics and 
fulness the spirits do a little go and epicycles, and such engines of orbs, to 
come ; but with bold men, upon like oc- lo save the phenomena, though they knew 
casion, they stand at a stay, like a stale there were no such things; and, in like 
at chess, where it is no mate, but yet the manner, that the schoolmen had framed 
game cannot stir; but this last were fit- a number of subtle and intricate axioms 
ter for a satire than for a serious ob- and theorems to save the practice of the 
servation. This is well to be weighed, 15 church. The causes of superstition are 
that boldness is ever blind: for it seeth pleasing and sensual rites and ceremo- 
not dangers and inconveniences. There- nies, excess of outward and pharisaical 
fore it is ill in counsel, good in execu- holiness, over-great reverence of tradi- 
tion; so that the right use of bold per- tions, which cannot but load the church; 
sons is that they never command in 20 the stratagems of prelates for their own 
chief, but be seconds, and under the ambition and lucre; the favoring too 
direction of others. For in counsel it is much of good intentions, which openeth 
good to see dangers ; and in execution not the gate to conceits and novelties ; the 
to see them, except they be very great. taking an aim at divine matters by hu- 

25 man, which cannot but breed mixture 

of imaginations; and, lastly, barbarous 
XVII. — OF SUPERSTITION times, especially joined with calamities 

and disasters. Superstition without a 
It were better to have no opinion of veil is a deformed thing, for as it add- 
God at all, than such an opinion as is 30 eth deformity to an ape to be so like a 
unworthy of him; for the one is unbelief, man, so the simiUtude of superstition to 
the other is contumely: and certainly religion makes it the more deformed, 
superstition is the reproach of the Deity. And as wholesome meat corrupteth to 
Plutarch saith well to that purpose : little worms, so good forms and orders 
' Surely,' saith he, ' I had rather a great 35 corrupt into a number of petty observ- 
deal, men should say there was no such ances. There is a superstition in avoid- 
a man at all as Plutarch, than that they ing superstition, when men think to do 
should say that there was one Plutarch, best if they go farthest from the super- 
that would eat his children as soon as stition formerly received. Therefore 
they were born'; as the poets speak of 40 care would be had that, as it fareth in 
Saturn. And as the contumely is greater ill purgings, the good be not taken away 
towards God, so the danger is greater with the bad, which commonly is done 
towards men. Atheism leaves a man to when the people is the reformer, 
sense, to philosophy, to natural piety, to 
laws, to reputation — all which may be 45 

guides to an outward moral virtue, XXIIL— OF WISDOM FOR A MAN'S 
though religion were not; but supersti- SELF 

tion dismounts all these, and erecteth an 

absolute monarchy in the minds of men. An ant is a wise creature for itself, 
Therefore atheism did never perturb 50 but it is a shrewd thing in an orchard 
states; for it makes men wary of them- or garden; and certainly men that are 
selves, as looking no further; and we see great lovers of themselves waste the pub- 
the times inclined to atheism, as the time lie. Divide with reason between self- 
of Augustus Caesar, were civil times ; but love and society ; and be so true to thy- 
superstition hath been the confusion of 55 self as thou be not false to others, 
many states, and bringeth in a new pri- especially to thy king and country. It 
mum mobile, that ravisheth all the spheres is a poor center of a man's actions, him- 
of government. The master of supersti- self. It is right earth; for that only 



ESSAYS 193 

stands fast upon its own center; whereas their time sacrificed to themselves, they 
all things that have affinity with the become in the end themselves sacrifices 
heavens move upon the center of another, to the inconstancy of fortune, whose 
which they benefit. The referring of all wings they thought by their self-wisdom 
to a man's self is more tolerable in a 5 to have pinioned, 
sovereign prince, because themselves are 
not only themselves, but their good and 

evil is at the peril of the public fortune : XXV.— OF DISPATCH 

but it is a desperate evil in a servant 

to a prince, or a citizen in a republic ; 10 Affected dispatch is one of the most 
for whatsoever affairs pass such a man's dangerous things to business that can be. 
hands, he crooketh them to his own ends. It is like that which the physicians call 
which must needs be often eccentric to predigestion, or hasty digestion, which is 
the ends of his master or state. There- sure to fill the body full of crudities and 
fore, let princes or states choose such 15 secret seeds of diseases. Therefore 
servants as have not this mark, except measure not dispatch by the times of 
they mean their service should be made sitting, but by the advancement of the 
but the accessory. That which maketh business. And as in races, it is not the 
the effect more pernicious is that all pro- large stride, or high lift, that makes the 
portion is lost. It were disproportion 20 speed, so in business, the keeping close 
enough for the servant's good to be pre- to the matter, and not taking of it too 
ferred before the master's; but yet it is much at once, procureth dispatch. It is 
a greater extreme, when a little good tlie care of some, only to come off speed- 
of the servant shall carry things against ily for the time, or to contrive some false 
a great good of the master's. And 25 periods of business, because they may 
yet that is the case of bad officers, seem men of dispatch ; but it is one thing 
treasurers, ambassadors, generals, and to abbreviate by contracting, another by 
other false and corrupt servants, which cutting off; and business so handled at 
set a bias upon their bowl, of their own several sittings or meetings goeth com- 
petty ends and envies, to the overthrow 3° monly backward and forward in an un- 
of their master's great and important steady manner. I knew a wise man that 
affairs. And for the most part, the good had it for a byword, when he saw men 
such servants receive is after the model hasten to a conclusion, ' Stay a little, that 
of their ovs^n fortune, but the hurt they we may make an end the sooner.' 
sell for that good is after the model of 35 On the other side, true dispatch is a 
their master's fortune. And certainly rich thing; for time is the measure of 
it is the nature of extreme self-lovers, business, as money is of wares; and busi- 
as they will set a house on fire and it ness is bought at a dear hand where 
were but to roast their eggs; and yet there is small dispatch. The Spartans 
these men many times hold credit with 40 and Spaniards have been noted to 
their masters, because their study is but be of small dispatch: Mi venga la 
to please them, and profit themselves ; miierte de Spagna, ' Let my death come 
and for either respect they will abandon from Spain,' for then it will be sure to 
the good of their affairs. be long in coming. 

Wisdom for a man's self is, in many 45 Give good hearing to those that give 
branches thereof, a depraved thing; it the first information in business; and 
is the wisdom of rats, that will be sure rather direct them in the beginning than 
to leave a house somewhat before it interrupt them in the continuance of 
fall; it is the wisdom of the fox, that their speeches; for he that is put out of 
thrusts out the badger, who digged and 50 his own order will go forward and back- 
made room for him; it is the wisdom of ward, and be more tedious while he 
crocodiles, that shed tears when they waits upon his memory, than he could 
would devour. But that which is spe- have been if he nad gone on in his own 
cially to be noted is that those which course. But sometimes it is seen that 
(as Cicero says of Pompey) are siii^Sthc moderator is more troublesome than 
amantes sine rivali [lovers of them- the actor. 

selves without a rival] are many times Iterations are commonly loss of time; 

unfortunate; and whereas thev have all but there is no such gain of time as to 



194 FRANCIS BACON 



iterate often the state of the question; light, and seem always to keep back 
for it chaseth. away many a frivolous somewhat; and when they know within 
speech as it is coming forth. Long and themselves they speak of that they do 
curious speeches are as fit for dispatch not well know would, nevertheless, seem 
as a robe or mantle with a long train is 5 to others to know of that which they may 
for a race. Prefaces, and passages, and not well speak. Some help themselves 
excusations, and other speeches of refer- with countenance and gesture, and are 
ence to the person are great wastes of wise by signs, as Cicero saith of Piso, 
time; and though they seem to proceed that when he answered him he fetched 
of modesty, they are bravery. Yet be- 10 one of his brows up to his forehead and 
ware of being too material when there bent the other down to his chin — re- 
is any impediment or obstruction in men's spondes, altera ad frontem sublato altera 
wills ; for pre-occupation of mind ever ad mentiim depresso supercilia, crudelita- 
requireth preface of speech, like a fomen- tern tibi nan placere. Some think to bear 
tation to make the unguent enter. 15 it by speaking a great word and being 

Above all things, order and distribu- peremptory, and go on and take by ad- 
tion, and singling out of parts is the life mittance that which they cannot make 
of dispatch, so as the distribution be not good. Some, whatsoever is beyond their 
too subtle ; for he that doth not divide reach, will seem to despise or make light 
will never enter well into business, and he 20 of it as impertinent or curious, and so 
that divideth too much will never come would have , their ignorance seem judg- 
out of it clearly. To choose time is to ment. Some are never without a differ- 
save time ; and an unseasonable motion ence, and commonly, by amusing men 
is but beating the air. There be three with a subtlety, blanch the matter, of 
parts of business — the preparation,' the 25 whom A. Gellius saith, /fomfn^m dfZirwm, 
debate, or examination, and the perfec- q^n verhorwn minutiis rerum frangit pan- 
tion; whereof, if you look for dispatch, dera [a foolish man who breaks up im- 
1st the middle only be the work of many, portant business with small points about 
and the first and last the work of few. words]. Of which kind also Plato, in 
The proceeding upon somewhat con- 30 his Protagoras, bringeth in Prodicus in 
ceived in writing doth for the most part scorn, and maketh him make a speech 
facilitate dispatch ; for though it should that consisteth of distinctions from the 
be wholly rejected, yet that negative is beginning to the end. Generally, such 
more pregnant of direction than an in- men, in all deliberations, find ease to be 
definite, as ashes are more generative 35 of the negative side, and affect a credit 
than dust. to object and foretell difficulties; for 

when propositions are denied, there is an 

end of them; but if they be allowed, it 

XXVL— OF SEEMING WISE requireth a new work; which false point 

40 of wisdom is the bane of business. To 

It hath been an opinion that the French conclude, there is no decaying merchant, 
are wiser than they seem, and the Span- or inward beggar, hath so many tricks 
iards seem wiser than they are. But to uphold^ the credit of their wealth, as 
howsoever it be between nations, cer- these empty persons have to maintain, 
tainly it is so between man and man. 45 the credit of their . sufficiency. Seeming 
For as the Apostle saith of godliness, wise men may make shift to get opinion j 
* having a show of godliness, but deny- but let no man choose them for employ- 
ing the power thereof,' so certainly there ment; for, certainly, you were better take 
are in points of wisdom and sufficiency for business a man somewhat absurd than 
that do nothing or little very solemnly 50 over-formal. 
— magna conatii nugas [trifles with great 
effort]. It is a ridiculous thing, and fit 

for a satire to persons of judgment, to XXVIII. — OF EXPENSE 

see what shifts these formalists have, and 

what prospectives to make superficies to 55 Riches are for spending, and spendin?^ | 
seem body that hath depth and bulk. for honor and good actions. Therefore 
Some are so close and reserved as they extraordinary expense must be limited 
will not show their wares but by a dark by the worth of the occasion ; for vol- 

I 



ESSAYS 195 

untary undoing- may be as well for a discerning what is true ; as if it were a 
man's country as for the kingdom of praise to know what might be said, and 
heaven. But ordinary expense ought to not what should be thought. Some 
be limited by a man's estate, and gov- have certain commonplaces and themes, 
erned with such regard as it be within 5 wherein they are good, and want va- 
his compass, and not subject to deceit riety; which kind of poverty is for 
and abuse of servants, and ordered to the most part tedious, and, v/hen it is 
the best show, that the bills may be less once perceived, ridiculous. The honor- 
than the estimation abroad. Certainly, ablest part of talk is to give the occasion ; 
if a man will keep but of even hand, 10 and again to moderate, and pass to some- 
his ordinary expenses ought to be but what else, for then a man leads the 
to the half of his receipts, and if he think dance. It is good in discourse and 
to wax rich, but to the third part. It is speech of conversation to vary and inter- 
no baseness for the greatest to descend mingle speech of the present occasion with 
and look into their own estate. Some 15 arguments, tales with reasons, asking of 
forbear it, not upon negligence alone, but questions with telling of opinions, and 
doubting to bring themselves into melan- jest with earnest, for it is a dull thing to 
choly, in respect they shall find it broken, tire, and as we say now, to jade any- 
But wounds cannot be cured without thing too far. As for jest, there be 
searching. He that cannot look into his 20 certain things which ought to be privi- 
own estate at all had need both choose leged from it, namely, religion, matters 
well them whom he employeth, and of state, great persons, any man's present 
change them often, for new are more business of importance, and any case that 
timorous and less subtle. He that can deserveth pity. Yet there be some that 
look into his estate but seldom, it be- 25 think their wits have been asleep, except 
hoveth him to turn all to certainties. A they dart out somewhat that is piquant 
man had need, if he be plentiful in some and to the quick: that is a vein which 
kind of expense, to be as saving again would be bridled. 
in some other : as if he be plentiful in 

diet, to be saving in apparel ; if he be 3° Farce, puer, stimulis, et fortius utere lorls. 
plentiful in the hall, to be saving in the [Spare, boy, the whip, and tighter hold the 

stable; and the like. For he that is reins.] 
plentiful in expenses of all kinds will 

hardly be preserved from decay. In And generally men ought to find the 
clearing of a man's estate, he may as well 35 difference between saltness and bitter- 
hurt himself in being too sudden, as in ness. Certainly he that hath a satirical 
letting it run on too long, for hasty vein, as he maketh others afraid of his 
selling is commonly as disadvantageable wit, so he had need be afraid of others' 
as interest. Besides, he that clears at memory. He that questioneth much 
once will relapse, for, finding himself out 40 shall learn much and content much ; but 
of straits, he v/ill revert to his customs ; especially if he apply his questions to the 
but he that cleareth by degrees induceth skill of the persons whom he asketh, for 
a habit of frugality, and gaineth as well he shall give them occasion to please 
upon his mind as upon his estate. Ccr- themselves in speaking, and himself shall 
tainly, who hath a state to repair may not 45 continually gather knowledge. But let 
despise small things : and, commonly, it his questions not be troublesome, for that 
is less dishonorable to abridge petty is fit for a poser. And let him be sure 
charges than to stoop to petty gettings. to leave other men their turns to speak. 
A man ought warily to begin charges Nay, if there be any that would reign, 
which, once begun, will continue; but in 5- and take up all the time, let him find 
matters that return not, he may be more means to take them off and to bring 
magnificent. others on ; as musicians used to do with 

those that danced too long galliards. 
XXXIL- OF DISCOURSE V, ^'^^ dissemble sometimes your know- 

55 ledge of that you are thought to know, 

Some in their discourse desire rather you shall be thought another time to 

commendation of wit, in being able to know that you know not. Speech of a 

hold all arguments, than of judgment, in man's self ought to be seldom and well 



196 FRANCIS BACON 

chosen. I knew one was wont to say in see what feigned prices are set upon 
scorn, -' He must needs be a wise man, Httle stones and rarities ? And what 
he speaks so much of himself.' And works of ostentation are undertaken, be- 
there is but one case wherein a man cause there might seem to be some use 
may commend himself with good grace, 5 of great riches ? But then you will say, 
and that is in commending virtue in an- they may be of use, to buy men out of 
other, especially if it be such a virtue dangers or troubles. As Solomon saith, 
whereunto himself pretendeth. Speech ' Riches are as a stronghold in the im- 
of touch towards others should be spar- agination of the rich man.' But this is 
ingly used, for discourse ought to be as 10 excellently expressed, that it is in im- 
a field, without coming home to any man. agination, and not always in fact. For 
I knew two noblemen of the west part certainly great riches have sold more 
of England, whereof the one was given men than they have bought out. Seek 
to scoff, but kept ever royal cheer in his not proud riches, but such as thou 
house. The other would ask of those 15 mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute 
that had been at the other's table, ' Tell cheerfully, and leave contentedly. Yet 
truly, was there never a flout or dry blow have no abstract or friarly contempt of 
given?' To which the guest would them, but distinguish, as Cicero saith 
answer, such and such a thing passed, well of Rabirius Posthumus, In studio 
The lord would say, ' I thought he would 20 rei amplificandae, apparehat, non avari- 
mar a good dinner.' Discretion of iiae praedam, sed instriiynentum bonitati 
speech is more than eloquence, and to quaeri [In his efforts to increase his 
speak agreeably to him with whom wealth, it was clear that he did not seek 
we deal is more than to speak in a prey for avarice but an instrument for 
good words or in good order. A 25 doing good]. Hearken also to Solomon, 
good continued speech, without a good and beware of hasty gathering of riches: 
speech of interlocution, shows slowness; Qui festinat ad divitias, non erit insons 
and a good reply, or second speech, with- [He that m.aketh haste to be rich shall not 
out a good settled speech, showeth be innocent]. The poets feign that when 
shallowness and weakness. As we see 30 Plutus (which is riches) is sent from 
in beasts, that those that are weakest in Jupiter, he limps, and goes slowly, but 
the course are yet nimblest in the turn, when he is sent from Pluto, he runs, and 
as it is betwixt the greyhound and the is swift of foot; meaning that riches 
hare. To use too many circumstances gotten by good means and just labor pace 
ere one come to the matter is weari- 35 slowly, but when they come by the death 
some; to use none at all is blunt. of others (as by the course of inheritance, 

testaments, and the like), they come 

tumbling upon a man: but it might be 

XXXIV.— OF RICHES applied likewise to Pluto taking him for 

40 the devil ; for when riches come from the 
I cannot call riches better than the devil (as by fraud, and oppression, and 
baggage of virtue. The Roman word is unjust means) they come upon speed, 
better, impedimenta, for as the baggage The ways to enrich are many, and most 
is to an army so is riches to virtue. It of them foul ; parsimony is one of the 
cannot be spared, nor left behind, but it 45 best, and yet is not innocent, for it with- 
hindereth the march, yea, and the care holdeth men from works of liberality 
of it sometimes loseth or disturbeth the and charity. The improvement of the 
victory. Of great riches there is no real ground is the most natural obtaining of 
use, except it be in the distribution ; the riches, for it is our great mother's 
jest is but conceit. So saith Solomon, 50 blessing, the earth's ; but it is slow : and 
' Where much is, there are many to con- yet, where men of great wealth do stoop 
sume it; and what hath the owner but to husbandry, it multiplieth riches ex- 
the sight of it with his eyes ? ' The ceedingly, I knew a nobleman in Eng- 
personal fruition in any man cannot land that had the greatest audits of any 
reach to feel great riches ; there is a 55 man in my time, — a great grazier, a 
custody of them, or a power of dole and great sheep master, a great timber man, 
donative of them, or a fame of them, but a great collier, a great corn master, a 
no solid use to the owner. Do you not great lead man, and so of iron and a 



ESSAYS 197. 

number of the like points of husbandry; the best rise, yet when they are gotten 
so as the earth seemed a sea to him in by flattery, feeding humors, and other 
respect of the perpetual importation, servile conditions, they may be placed 
It was truly observed by one, ' That him- amongst the worst. As for fishing for 
self came very hardly to a little riches, 5 testaments and executorships, as Tacitus 
and very easily to great riches'; for saith of Seneca, Testamenta et orbos 
when a man's stock is come to that, that tanquani indagine capi [he took in be- 
he can expect the prime of markets, and quests and wardships as with a net] ; it 
overcome those bargains, which for their is yet worse, by how much men submit 
greatness are few men's money, and be ^o themselves to meaner persons than in 
partner in the industries of younger service. Believe not much them that 
men, he cannot but increase mainly, seem to despise riches, for they despise 
The gains of ordinary trades and voca- them that despair of them, and none 
tions are honest, and furthered by two worse when they come to them. Be not 
things chiefly : by diligence, and by a i5 penny-wise ; riches have wings, and 
good name for good and fair dealing; sometimes they fly away of themselves, 
but the gains of bargains are of a more sometimes they must be set flying to 
doubtful nature, when men shall wait bring in more. Men leave their riches 
upon others' necessity; broke by servants, either to their kindred, or to the public; 
and instruments to draw them on ; put 20 and moderate portions prosper best in 
off others cunningly that would be better both. A great estate left to an heir is 
chapmen, and the like practices, which as a lure to all the birds of prey round 
are crajfty and naught. As for the about to seize on him, if he be not the 
chopping of bargains, when a man buys better stablished in years and judgments, 
not to hold, but to sell over again, that 25 Likewise glorious gifts and foundations 
commonly grindeth double, both upon the are like sacrifices without salt, and but 
seller and upon the buyer. Sharings do the painted sepulchers of alms, which 
greatly enrich, if the hands be well soon will putrefy and corrupt inwardly, 
chosen that are trusted. Usury is the Therefore measure not thine advance- 
certainest means of gain, though one of 3o ments by quantity, but frame them by 
the worst, as that whereby a man doth measure: and defer not charities till 
eat his bread in sitdori vultus alieni death; for, certainly, if a man weigh it 
[in the sweat of another man's brow] ; rightly, he that dotli so is rather liberal 
and besides, doth plough upon Sundays, of another man's than of his own. 
But yet certain though it be, it hath 35 
flaws, for that the scriveners and brokers 

do value unsound men, to serve their XLII. — OF YOUTH AND AGE 

own turn. The fortune in being the first 

in an invention, or in a privilege, doth A man that is young in years may be 
cause sometimes a wonderful overgrowth 40 old in hours if he have lost no time. 
in riches, as it was with the first sugar- But that happeneth rarely. Generally' 
man in the Canaries. Therefore, if a youth is like the first cogitations, not so 
man can play the true logician, to have wise as the second. For there is j 
as well judgment as invention, he may youth in thoughts as well as in ages. 
do great matters, especially if the times 45 And yet the invention of young men is 
be fit. He that resteth upon gains cer- more lively than that of old; and im- 
tain shall hardly grow to great riches, aginations stream into their minds, better 
And he that puts all upon adventures, and, as it were, more divinely. Natures 
doth oftentimes break, and come to that have much heat, and great and 
poverty : it is good therefore to guard 50 violent desires and perturbations, are not 
adventures with certainties that may up- ripe for action till they have passed the 
hold losses. Monopolies, and co-emp- meridian of their years, as it was with 
tion of wares for resale, where they are Julius Caesar and Septimius Severus, of 
not restrained, are great means to enrich, the latter of whom it is said, Jiwentutem 
especially if the party have intelligence 55 egit errorihus, into furoribiis plenam 
what thmgs are like to come into re- [he spent a youth full of errors, and 
quest, and so store himself beforehand, even of acts of madness]. And yet he 
Riches gotten by service, though it be of was the ablest emperor almost of all the 



198 FRANCIS BACON 



list. But reposed natures may do well in the edge whereof is soon turned — such 
youth, as it is seen in Augustus Caesar, as was Hermogenes, the rhetorician, 
Cosmos, Duke of Florence, Gaston de whose books are exceeding subtle, who 
Fois, and others. On the other side, afterwards waxed stupid. A second sort 
heat and vivacity in age is an excellent 5 is of those that have some natural dis- 
composition for business. Young men positions, which have better grace in 
are fitter to invent than to judge, fitter youth than in age, such as is a fluent and 
for execution than for counsel, and fitter luxuriant speech, which becomes youth 
for new projects than for settled busi- well, but not age; so Tully saith of 
ness. For the experience of age, in 10 Hortensius, Idem manehat, neque idem 
things that fall within the compass of it, decebat. [He continued the same, when 
directeth them; but in new things it was no longer becoming]. The third 
abuseth them. The errors of young men is of such ^s take too high a strain at 
are the ruin of business; but the errors the first, and -are magnanimous more 
of a-^ed men amount but to this, that 15 than tract of years can uphold ; as was 
more' might have been done, or sooner. Scipio Africanus, of whom Livy saith in 
Young men, in the conduct and manage effect. Ultima primis cedebant [His 
of actions, embrace more than they can end fell below his beginning], 
hold; stir more than they can quiet; fly 
to the end, without consideration of the 20 

means and degrees ; pursue some few XLVH. — • OF NEGOTIATING 

principles, which they have chanced 

upon, absurdly; care not to innovate, It is generally better to deal by speech 

which draws unknown inconveniences ; than by letter, and by the mediation of 
use extreme remedies at first; and, that 25 a third than by a man's self. Letters 
which doubleth all errors, will not are good, when a man would draw an 
acknowledge or retract them, like an un- answer by letter back again; or when it 
ready horse, that will neither stop nor may serve for a man's justification after- 
turn. Men of age object too much, con- wards to produce his own letter; or where 
suit too long, adventure too little, repent 30 it may be danger to be interrupted, or 
too soon, and seldom drive business home heard by pieces. To deal in person is 
to the full period, but content themselves good, when a man's face breedeth regard, 
with a mediocrity of success. Certainly as commonly with inferiors; or in tender 
it is good to compound employments of cases, where a man's eye upon the 
both, for that will be good for the pres- 35 countenance of him with whom he 
ent, because the virtues of either age speaketh may give him a direction how 
may correct the defects of both; and far to go; and generally, where a man 
good for succession, that young men will reserve to himself liberty, either to 
may be learners, while men in age are disavow or to expound. In choice of 
actors ; and, lastly, good for extern ac- 40 instruments, it is better to choose men of 
cidents, because authority foUoweth old a plainer sort, that are like to do that 
men, and favor and popularity youth, that is committed to them, and to report 
But for the moral part perhaps youth back again faithfully the success, than 
will have the preeminence, as age hath those that are cunning to contrive out of 
for the politic. A certain rabbin upon 45 other men's business somewhat to grace 
the text, ' Your young men shall see themselves, and will help the matter in 
visions, and your old men shall dream report, for satisfaction sake. Use also 
dreams,' inferreth that young men are such persons as affect the business 
admitted nearer to God than old, be- wherein they are employed, for that 
cause vision is a clearer revelation than 50 quickeneth much ; and such as are fit fof 
a dream. And certainly the more a man the matter, as bold men for expostula- 
drinketh of the world the more it in- tion, fair-spoken men for persuasion, 
toxicateth; and age doth profit rather in crafty men for inquiry and observation, 
the powers of understanding than in the froward and absurd men for business 
virtues of the will and affections. 55 that doth not well bear out itself. Use 
There be some have an over-early ripe- also such as have been luc^y, and pre- 
ness in their years, which fadeth betimes ; vailed before in things wherein you 
these are, first, such as have brittle wits, have employed them; for that breeds 



___^ ESSA YS 199 

confidence, and they will strive to main- abilities are like natural plants, that need 
tain their prescription. pruning by study; and studies themselves 

It is better to sound a person with do give forth directions too much at 
whom one deals, afar off, than to fall large, except they be bounded in by ex- 
upon the point at first, except you mean 5 perience. Crafty men contemn studies, 
to surprise him by some short question. simple men admire them, and wise men 
It is better dealing with men in appetite, use them. For they teach not their own 
than with those that are where they use; but that is a wisdom without them, 
would be. If a man deal with another and above them, won by observation, 
upon conditions, the start or first per- 10 Read not to contradict and confute ; nor 
formance is all; which a man cannot to believe and take for granted; nor to 
reasonably demand, except either the find talk and discourse; but to weigh and 
nature of the thing be such which must consider. Some books are to be tasted, 
go before; or else a man can persuade others to be swallowed, and some few to 
the other party, that he shall still need 15 be chewed and digested — that is, some 
him in some other thing; or else that books are to be read only in parts, others 
he be counted the honester man. All to be read, but not curiously, and some 
practice is to discover, or to work. few to be read wholly, and with diligence 
Men discover themselves in trust, in and attention. Some books also may be 
passion, at unawares ; and of necessity, 20 read by deputy, and extracts made of 
when they would have somewhat done, them by others ; but that would be only 
and cannot find an apt pretext. If you in the less important arguments and the 
would work any man, you must either meaner sort of books; else distilled 
know his nature and fashions, and so books are like common distilled waters, 
lead him, or his ends, and so persuade 25 flashy things. Reading maketh a full 
him, or his weakness and disadvantages, man, conference a ready man, and writ- 
and so awe him, or those that have in- ing an exact man. And therefore if s. 
terest in him, and so govern him. In man write little he had need have a great 
dealing with cunning persons, we must memory; if he confer little he had need 
ever consider their ends to interpret 3° have a present wit ; and if he read little 
their speeches, and it is good to say he had need have much cunning to seem 
little to them, and that which they least to know that he doth not. Histories 
look for. In all negotiations of difficulty make men wise, poets witty, the mathe- 
a man may not look to sow and reap at matics subtle, natural philosophy deep, 
once, but must prepare business, and so 35 moral grave, logic and rhetoric able to 
ripen it by degrees. contend, Abeunt studia in mores [Stud- 

ies develop into habits]. Nay, there is 
no stond or impediment in the wit but 
L. — OF STUDIES may be wrought out by fit studies, like 

40 as diseases of the body may have ap- 
Studies serve for delight, for orna- propriate exercises. Bowling is good 
ment, and for ability. Their chief use for the stone and reins, shooting for the 
for delight is in privateness and retiring; lungs and breast, gentle walking for the 
for ornament is in discourse ; and for stomach, riding for the head, and the 
ability is in the judgment and disposition 45 like. So if a man's wit be wandering, 
of business. For expert men can exe- let him study the mathematics, for in 
cute, and perhaps judge of particulars, demonstrations, if his wit be called away 
one by one; but the general counsels and never so little, he must begin again; if 
the plots and marshalling of affairs his wit be not apt to distinguish or find 
come best from those that are learned. 5° differences, let him study the schoolmen, 
To spend too much time in studies is for they are cymini sectores [hair- 
sloth ; to use them too much for orna- splitters] ; if he be not apt to beat over 
ment is affectation; to make judgment matters and to call up one thing to prove 
wholly by their rules is the humor of a and illustrate another, let him study the 
scholar. They perfect nature, and are 55 lawyer's cases. So every defect of the 
perfected by experience. For natural mind may have a special receipt. 



SIR THOMAS BROWNE (1605-1682) 

Browne is described by Mr. Saintsbury as ' the greatest prose-writer perhaps, when all 
things are taken together, in the whole range of English,' and all critics are agreed that he 
is one of the greatest. He was educated at Winchester and Oxford, studied medicine abroad, 
and took his doctor's degree at Leyden. He was only thirty when he wrote the work by 
which he is best known, Religio Medici, or A Physician's Religion. Circulated at first in 
manuscript, it was twice printed surreptitiously in 1642, and an authorized edition was pub- 
lished in 1643. It at once attracted attention and was translated into Latin, Dutch, French, 
and German. In 1637 Browne settled at Norwich, and there he spent the rest of his life in 
the enjoyment of a wide fame, both as a scholar and as a physician. He was knighted when 
Charles II visited the city in 1671. He wrote a great deal, and left many tracts, which were 
published after his death. His most considerable work is an exposure of popular superstitions 
entitled Pseudodoxia Epidemica or Vulgar and Qommon Errors (1648). Ten years later 
appeared Hydriotaphia Urn Burial, or a Discourse of the Sepulchral Urns lately found in 
Norfolk and The Garden of Gyrus, or the Quincuncial Lozenge, net-ioork plantations of the 
Ancients, artificially, naturally, mystically considered. Of the latter Coleridge says that 
Ih-owne finds ' quincunxes in heaven above, quincunxes in earth below, quincunxes in the 
mind of man, quincunxes in tones, in optic nerves, in roots of trees, in leaves, in everything.' 
Browne has, however, much rarer virtues than curious learning and quaintness of phrase: 
he expresses the deep thoughts of an unusually well-balanced mind in a style not merely clear 
and dignified, but rich with a sustained and subtle harmony as of solemn music. 



RELIGIO MEDICI tenting myself to enjoy that happy style, 

than maligning those who refuse so 
For my religion though there be glorious a title, 
several circumstances that might per- But because the name of a christian 

suade the world I have none at all, as 5 is become too general to express our 
the general scandal of my profession, the faith, there being a geography of reli- 
natural course of my studies, the in- gion as well as lands, and every clime 
differency of my behavior and discourse distinguished not only by their laws and 
in matters of religion, neither violently limits, but circumscribed by their doc- 
defending one, nor with that common lo trines and rules of faith ; to be par- 
ardor and contention opposing another; ticular, I am of that reformed new-cast 
yet in despite hereof, I dare, without religion, wherein I dislike nothing but 
usurpation, assume the honorable style the name; of the same belief our Savior 
of a christian. Not that I merely owe taught, the apostles disseminated, the 
this title to the font, my education, or i5 fathers authorized, and the martyrs con- 
clime wherein I was born, as being bred firmed, but by the sinister ends of 
up either to confirm those principles my princes, the ambition and avarice of prel- 
parents instilled into my understanding, ates, and the fatal corruption of times, 
or by a general consent proceed in the so decayed, impaired, and fallen from 
religion of my country: but having in ?.o its native beauty, that it required the 
my riper years and confirmed judgment, careful and charitable hands of these 
seen and examined all, I find myself' times to restore it to its primitive in- 
obliged by the principles of grace, and tegrity. Now the accidental occasion 
the law of mine own reason, to embrace whereupon, the slender means whereby, 
no other name but this: neither doth the low and abject condition of the per- 
herein my zeal so far make me forget the as son by whom so good a work was set on 
general charity I owe unto humanity, as foot, which in our adversaries beget con- 
rather to hate than pity Turks, Infidels, tempt and scorn, fills me with wonder, 
and (vi;hat is. worse) Jews; rather con- and is the very same objection the in- 

200 



RELIGIO MEDICI 201 



solent pagans first cast at- Christ and circumstances, there is something in it 
liis disciples. of devotion. I could never hear the 

Yet have I not so shaken hands vv^ith Ave-Mary bell ^ without an elevation, or 
those desperate resolutions, who had think it a sufficient warrant, because they 
rather venture at large their decayed 5 erred in one circumstance, for me to err 
bottom, than bring her in to be new in all, that is, in silence and dumb con- 
trimmed in the dock; who had rather tempt. Whilst therefore they direct 
promiscuously retain all, than abridge their devotions to her, I offer mine to 
any, and obstinately be what they are, God, and rectify the errors of their 
than what they have been, as to stand 10 prayers, by rightly ordering mine own. 
in diameter and swords point with them. At a solemn procession I have wept 
We have reformed from them, not abundantly, while my consorts, blind 
against them; for omitting those im- with opposition and prejudice, have fallen 
properations, and terms of scurrility into an excess of scorn and laughter, 
betwixt us, which only difference -our 15 There are questionless, both in Greek, 
affections, and not our cause, there is be- Roman, and African churches, solemni- 
tween us one common name and appella- ties and ceremonies, whereof the wiser 
tion, one faith and necessary body of zeals do make a christian use, and stand 
principles common to us both. And condemned by us, not as evil in them- 
therefore I am not scrupulous to con- 20 selves, but as allurements and baits of 
verse and live with them, to enter their superstition to those vulgar heads that 
churches in defect of ours, and either look asquint on the face of truth, and 
pray with them, or for them. I could those unstable judgments that cannot 
never perceive any rational conseqiience resist in the narrow point and center of 
from those many texts which prohibit 25 virtue without a reel or stagger to the 
the Children of Israel to pollute them- circumference. 

selves with the temples of the heathens ; As there were many reformers, So 

we being all christians, and not divided likewise many reformations; every coun- 
by such detested impieties as might pro- try proceeding in a particular way and 
fane our prayers, or the place wherein 3o method, according as their national in- 
we make them ; or that a resolved con- terest, together with their constitution 
science may not adore her Creator any- and clime inclined them; some angrily, 
where, especially in places devoted to his and with extremity; others calmly, and 
service; where if their devotions offend with mediocrity, not rending but easily 
him, mine may please him; if theirs 35 dividing the community, and leaving an 
profane it, mine may hallow it; holy- honest possibility of a reconciliation; 
water and crucifix (dangerous to the which though peaceable spirits do de- 
common people) deceive not my judg- sire, and may conceive that revolu- 
ment, nor abuse my devotion at all. I tion of time and the mercies of God 
am, I confess, naturally inclined to that 40 may effect, yet that judgment that shall 
which misguided zeal terms superstition: consider the present antipathies between 
my common conversation I do acknow- the two extremes, their contrarieties in 
ledge austere, my behavior full of rigor, condition, affection and opinion, may 
sometimes not without morosity; yet at with the same hopes expect a union in 
my devotion I love to use the civility of 45 the poles of heaven, 
my knee, my hat, and hand, with all But to difference myself nearer, and 

those outward and sensible motions draw into a lesser circle : there is no 
which may express or promote my in- church, whose every part so squares unto 
visible devotion. I should violate my my conscience; whose articles, consti- 
own arm rather than a church, nor 50 tutions, and customs, seem so consonant 
willingly deface the name of saint or unto reason, and as it were framed to 
martyr. At the sight of a cross or cruci- my particular devotion, as this whereof 
fix I can dispense with my hat, but I hold my belief, the Church of England, 
scarce with the thought or memory of 

my Savior: I cannot laugh at, but 55 *^ church bell that tolls every day at six and 

rather pity the fruitless journeys of *'"^'''^ °^ ft ^'T""' ^^ *^^ ^^"lu° "^^f'^^^' ^"^'^ 

.. . '^ -' . .-'.,■' one in what place soever, either of house or 

pilgrims, or contemn the miserable con- street, betakes himself to his prayer, which is 
dition of friars ; for though misplaced in commonly directed to the virgin. 



202 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 

to whose faith I am a sworn subject; disadvantage, or when the cause of truth 
and therefore in a double obligation might suffer in the weakness of my 
subscribe unto her articles, and en- patronage. Where we desire to be in- 
deavor to observe her constitutions. formed, 't is good to contest with men 
Whatsoever is beyond, as points indiffer- 5 above ourselves; but to confirm and 
ent, I observe according to the rules of establish our opinions, 't is best to argue 
my private reason, or the humor and with judgments below our own, that the 
fashion of my devotion; neither believ- frequent spoils and victories over their 
ing this, because Luther affirmed it, or reasons, may settle in ourselves an es- 
disproving that, because Calvin hath dis- lo teem and confirmed opinion of our own. 
avouched it. I condemn not all things Every man is not a proper champion 
in the Council of Trent, nor approve for truth, nor fit to take up the gaunt- 
all in the Synod of Dort. In brief, let in the cause of verity. Many from 
where the Scripture is silent, the church the ignorance of these maxims, and an 
is my text ; where that speaks, 't is but 15 inconsiderate zeal unto truth, have too 
my comment: where there is a joint rashly charged the troops of error, and 
silence of both, I borrow not the rules remain as trophies unto the enemies 
of my religion from Rome or Geneva, of truth. A man may be in as just 
but the dictates of my own reason. It possession of truth as of a city, and yet 
is an unjust scandal of our adversaries, 20 be forced to surrender; 'tis therefore 
and a gross error in ourselves, to com- far better to enjoy her with peace, than 
pute the nativity of our religion from to hazard her on a battle. If therefore 
Henry the Eighth, who though he re- there rise any doubts in my way, I do 
jected the Pope, refused not the faith forget them, or at least defer them, till 
of Rome, and effected no more than what 25 my better settled judgment and more 
his own predecessors desired and as- manly reason be able to resolve them, 
sayed in ages past, and was conceived for I perceive every man's own reason 
the state of Venice would have attempted is his best CEdipus, and will upon a- 
in our days. It is as uncharitable a reasonable . truce find a way to loose . 
point in us to fall upon those popular 30 those bonds wherewith the subtleties of 
scurrilities and opprobrious scoffs of error have enchained our more flexible 
the Bishop of Rome, to whom as tem- and tender judgments. In philosophy, 
poral prince, we owe the duty of good where truth seems double faced, there 
language. I confess there is a cause of is no man more paradoxical than myself; 
passion between us ; by his sentence 1 35 but in divinity I love to keep the road ; 
stand excommunicated, heretic is the and though not in an implicit, yet an 
best language he affords me ; yet can humble faith, follow the great wheel of 
no ear witness, I ever returned him the the church, by which I move, not re- 
name of Antichrist, Man of sin, or serving any proper poles or motion from 
Whore of Babylon. It is the method 40 the epicycle of my own brain. By this 
of charity to suffer without reaction : means I have no gap for heresy, schisms, 
those usual satires and invectives of the or errors, of which at present I hope I 
pulpit may perchance produce a good shall not injure truth to say I have no 
effect on the vulgar, whose ears are taint or tincture. I must confess my 
opener to rhetoric than logic ; yet do 4s greener studies have been polluted with 
they in no wise confirm the faith of two or three, not any begotten in the 
wiser believers, who know that a good latter centuries, but old and obsolete, 
cause needs not to be pardoned by pas- such as could never have been revived 
sion, but can sustain itself upon a tem- but by such extravagant and irregular 
perate dispute. 50 heads as mine. For indeed heresies 

I could never divide myself from any perish not with their authors, but like 
man upon the difference of an opinion, the river Arethusa, though they lose 
or be angry with his judgment for not their currents in one place, they rise up 
agreeing with me in that, from which again in another. One general council 
within a few days I should dissent my- 55 is not able to extirpate one single 
self. I have no genius to disputes in heresy ; it may be canceled for the 
religion, and have often thought it wis- present, but revolution of time, and the 
dom to decline them, especially upon a like aspects from heaven, will restore 



1 



RELIGIO MEDICI 203 



it, when it will flourish till it be con- our eye and sense hath examined: I be- 
demned again. For as though there lieve he was dead and buried, and rose 
were metempsychosis, and the soul of again; and desire to see him in his glory, 
one man passed into another; opinions rather than to contemplate him in his 
do find after certain revolutions men 5 cenotaph or sepulcher. Nor is this 
and minds like those that first begat much to believe; as we have reason, we 
them. To see ourselves again, we need owe this faith unto history: they only 
not look for Plato's year ^ : every man had the advantage of a bold and noble 
is not only himself; there hath been faith, who lived before his coming, who 
many Diogenes, and as many Timons, 10 upon obscure prophecies and mystical 
though but few of that name; men are types could raise a belief, and expect 
lived over again, the world is now as it apparent impossibilities, 
was in ages past; there was none then, * * * 

but there hath been some one since that Thus there are two books from whence 

parallels him, and as it were his revived 15 I collect my divinity ; besides that writ- 
self, ten one of God, another of his servant 
* * * ' nature, that universal and public manu- 
As for those wingy mysteries in script, that lies expansed unto the eyes 
divinity, and airy subtleties in religion, of all; those that never saw him in the 
which have unhinged the brains of 20 one, have discovered him in the other : 
better heads, they never stretched the this was the scripture and theology of 
pia mater of mine; methinks there be the heathens; the natural motion of the 
not impossibilities enough in religion, for sun made them more admire him, than 
an active faith ; the deepest mysteries its supernatural station did the Children 
ours contains, have not only been illus- 25 of Israel; the ordinary effects of nature 
tratcd, but maintained by syllogism, and wrought more admiration in them, than 
the rule of reason : I love to lose myself in the other all his miracles ; surely the 
in a mystery, to pursue my reason to an heathens knew better how to join and 

altitudo ! 'T is my solitary recreation read these mystical letters, than we 
to pose my apprehension with those in- 30 christians, who cast a more careless eye 
volved enigmas and riddles of the trinity, on these common hieroglyphics, and dis- 
with incarnation and resurrection. I can dain to suck divinity from the flowers of 
answer all the objections of Satan and nature. Nor do I so forget God as to 
my rebellious reason, with that odd reso- adore the name of nature; which I define 
lution I learned of Tertullian, Certum est 35 not with the schools, to be the principle 
quia impossibile est [It is certain be- of motion and rest, but that straight and 
cause it is impossible]. I desire to ex- regular line, that settled and constant 
ercise my faith in the difficultest point; course the wisdom of God hath ordained 
for to credit ordinary and visible objects, the actions of his creatures, according 
is not faith, but persuasion. Some be- 40 to their several kinds. To make a revo- 
lieve the better for seeing Christ's sep- lution every day, is the nature of the 
ulcher; and when they have seen the sun, because of that necessary course 
Red Sea, doubt not of the miracle. Now which God hath ordained it, from which 
contrarily, I bless myself, and am thank- it cannot swerve but by a faculty from 
ful that I lived not in the days of mir- 45 that voice which first did give it motion, 
acles, that I never saw Christ nor his Now this course of nature God seldom 
disciples. I would not have been one alters or perverts, but like an excellent 
of those Israelites that passed the Red artist hath so contrived his work, that 
Sea, nor one of Christ's patients on whom with the selfsame instrument, without a 
he wrought his wonders ; then had my 50 new creation, he may effect his obscur- 
faith been thrust upon me; nor should est designs. Thus he sweeteneth the 

1 enjoy that greater blessing pronounced water with a word, preserveth the crea- 
to all that believe and saw not. 'T is an tures in the ark, which the blast of his 
easy and necessary belief, to credit what mouth might have as easily created. 

55 For God is like a skilful geometrician, 

1 A revolution of certain thousand years, when who when more easily, and with onC 
all things should return unto their former estate, „,„ i „ „r i- i ■ t,i j -u 

and he be teaching again in his school as when Stroke of hlS COmpaSS he might describe 

he delivered this opinion. or divide a right line, had yet rather do 



204 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 



this in a circle or longer way; according our nearest friends, wife and children 
to the constituted and fore-laid principles stand afraid and start at us. The birds 
of his art. Yet this rule of his he doth and beasts of the field, that before in 
sometimes pervert, to acquaint the world a natural fear obeyed us, forgetting all 
with his prerogative, lest the arrogancy 5 allegiance begin to prey upon us. This 
of our reason should question his power, very conceit hath in a tempest disposed 
and conclude he could not. And thus and left me willing to be swallowed up 
I call the effects of nature the works of in the abyss of waters; wherein I had 
God, whose hand and instrument she only perished unseen, unpitied, without won- 
is ; and therefore to ascribe his actions lo dering eyes, tears of pity, lectures of 
unto her, is to devolve the honor of the mortality, and none had said, Quantum 
principal agent, upon the instrument; mutatiis ah illo [How much changed from 
which if with reason we may do, then what he was] ! Not that I am ashamed 
let our hammers rise up and boast they of the anatomy of my parts, or can 
have built our houses, and our pens re- 15 accuse nature for playing the bungler 
ceive the honor of our writing. I hold in any part of me, or my own vicious 
there is a general beauty in the works life for contracting any shameful disease 
of God, and therefore no deformity in upon me, whereby I might not call my- 
any kind of species of creature whatso- self as wholesome a morsel for the 
ever : I cannot tell by what logic we call 20 worms as any. 

a toad, a bear, or an elephant ugly, they Some upon the courage of a fruitful 

being created in those outward shapes issue, wherein, as in the truest chronicle, 
and figures which best express those they seem to outlive themselves, can with 
actions of their inward forms. And hav- greater patience away with death. This 
ing passed that general visitation of 25 conceit and counterfeit subsisting in our 
God, who saw that all that he had made progenies, seems to be a mere fallacy, 
was good, that is, conformable to his unworthy the desires of a man, that can 
will, which abhors deformity, and is the but conceive a thought of the next world ; 
rule of order and beauty; there is no who, in a nobler ambition, should de- 
deformity but in monstrosity, wherein 30 sire to live in his substance in heaven, 
notwithstanding there is a kind of beauty, rather than his name and shadow in the 
Nature so ingeniously contriving the ir- earth. And therefore at my death I 
regular parts, as they become sometimes mean to take a total adieu of the- world, 
more remarkable than the principal fab- not caring for a monument, history, or 
ric. To speak yet more narrowly, there 35 epitaph, not so much as the m.emory of 
was never anything ugly or mis-shapen my name to be found anywhere, but in 
but the chaos; wherein notwithstanding, the universal register of God. I am not 
to speak strictly, there was no deformity, yet so cynical, as to approve the testa- 
because no form, nor was it yet impreg- ment of Diogenes, ^ nor do I altogether 
nant by the voice of God. Now nature 40 allow that rodomontade of Lucan : 
is not at variance with art, nor art with 

nature; they being both servants of his Caelo tegitur, qui non habet urnam. 

providence. Art is the perfection of He that unburied lies, wants not his 

nature : were the world now as it was hearse, 

the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. 45 For unto him a tomb's the universe. 
Nature hath made one world, and art 

another. In brief, all things are arti- But commend m my calmer judgment, 
ficial; for nature is the art of God. those mgenuous intentions that desire to 

* * * sleep by the urns of [their] fathers, and 

I am naturally bashful, nor hath con- 50 strive to go the nearest way unto cor- 
versation, age, or travel been able to ruption. I do not envy the temper of 
effront, or enhardeh me; yet I have one c^ows and daws, nor the numerous and 
part of modesty, which I have seldom weary days of our fathers before the 
discovered in another, that is (to speak A^od. If there be any truth m astrology, 
truly) I am not so much afraid of death, 55 ^ "^^^ °"thve a jubilee; as yet I have 
as ashamed thereof; 'tis the very dis- ,^^^ ^.^^^ ^.^ ^^j^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ j^.^^ ^^^ 
grace and ignominy of our natures, that j^ang him up with a staff in his hand to fright 
in a moment can so disfigure us, that away the crows. 



RELIGIO MEDICI 205 

not seen one revolution of Saturn, nor struct me how to be better, but my 
hath my pulse beat thirty years; and yet untamed affections and confirmed vitios- 
excepting one, have seen the ashes, and ity makes me daily do w^orse ; I find in 
left underground, all the kings of Europe ; my confirmed age the same sins I dis- 
have been contemporary to three em- 5 covered in my youth ; I committed many 
perors, four grand signiors, and as many then because I was a child, and because 
popes. Methinks I have outlived myself, I commit them still, I am yet an infant, 
and begin to be weary of the sun ; I have Therefore I perceive a man may be twice 
shaken hands with delight: in my warm a child before the days of dotage, and 
blood and canicular days, I perceive 1 10 stand in need of ^son's bath before 
do anticipate the vices of age. The threescore. 

world to me is but a dream or mock And truly there goes a great deal of 

show, and we all therein but pantalones providence to produce a man's life unto 
and antics, to my severer contemplations, threescore. There is more required than 
It is not, I confess, an unlawful prayer 15 an able temper for those years ; though 
to desire to surpass the days of our Sav- the radical humor contain in it sufficient 
ior, or wish to outlive that age wherein oil for seventy, yet I perceive in some 
he thought fittest to die; yet if (as divin- it gives no light past thirty: men assign 
ity affirms) there shall be no gray hairs not all the causes of long life, that write 
in heaven, but all shall rise in the per- 20 whole books thereof. They that found 
feet state of men, we do but outlive themselves on the radical balsam, or 
those perfections in this world, to be re- vital sulphur of the parts, determine not 
called unto them by a greater miracle in why Abel lived not so long as Adam, 
the next, and run on here but to be There is therefore a secret glome or 
retrograde hereafter. Were there any 25 bottom of our days ; 't was his wisdom 
hopes to outlive vice, or a point to be to determine them, but his perpetual and 
superannuated from sin, it were worthy waking providence that fulfils and ac- 
our knees to implore the days of Me- complisheth them ; wherein the spirits, 
thuselah. But age doth not rectify, but ourselves, and all the creatures of God 
incurvate our natures, turning bad dis- 30 in a secret and disputed way do exe- 
positions into worser habits, and (like cute his will. Let them not therefore 
diseases) brings on incurable vices; for complain of immaturity that die about 
every day as we grow weaker in age, thirty; they fall but like the whole world, 
we grow stronger in sin; and the number whose solid and well-composed substance 
of our days doth but make our sins in- 35 must not expect the duration and period 
numerable. The same vice committed at of its constitution. When all things are 
sixteen, is not the same, though it agrees completed in it, its age is accomplished ; 
in all other circumstances, as at forty, and the last and general fever may as 
but swells and doubles from that cir- naturally destroy it before six thousand, 
cumstance of our ages, wherein, besides 40 as me before forty. There is therefore 
the constant and inexcusable habit of some other hand that twines the thread 
transgressing, the maturity of our judg- of life than that of nature. We are 
ment cuts off pretense unto excuse or not only ignorant in antipathies and oc- 
pardon. Every sin the oftener it is com- cult qualities ; our ends are as obscure 
mitted, the more it acquireth in the 45 as our beginnings. The line of our days 
quality of evil; as it succeeds in time, is drawn by night, and the various effects 
so it proceeds in degrees of badness ; for therein by a pencil that is invisible ; 
as they proceed they ever multiply, and wherein though we confess our ignorance, 
like figures in arithmetic, the last stands I am sure we do not err if we say it 
for more than all that went before it. 50 is the hand of God. 
And though I think no man can live * * * 

well once, but he that could live twice, 

yet for my own part I would not live the second part 

over my hours past, or begin again the 

thread of my days: not upon Cicero's 55 Now for that other virtue of charity, 
ground, because I have lived them well, without which faith is a mere notion, 
but for fear I should live them worse, and of no existence, I have ever en- 
I find my growing judgment daily in- deavored to nourish the merciful dis- 



2o6 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 



position and humane inclination I bor- and a point of our faith to beHeve so. 
rowed from my parents, and regulate it Neither in the name of multitude do I 
to the written and prescribed laws of only include the base and minor sort 
charity; and if I hold the true anatomy of people; there is a rabble even 
of myself, I am delineated and naturally 5 amongst the gentry, a sort of plebeian 
framed to such a piece of virtue. For heads, whose fancy moves with the same 
I am of a constitution so general, that wheel as these; men in the same level 
it comforts and sympathizeth with all with mechanics, though their fortunes 
things; I have no antipathy, or rather do somewhat gild their infirmities, and 
idiosyncrasy, in diet, humor, air, any- 1° their purses compound for their follies. 
thing: I wonder not at the French for But as in casting account, three or four 
their dishes of frogs, snails, and toad- men together come short in account of 
stools ; nor at the Jews for locusts and one man placed by himself below them : 
grasshoppers; but being amongst them, so neither are a troop of these ignorant 
make them my common viands ; and I ^5 Doradoes, of that true esteem and value, 
find they agree with my stomach as well as many a forlorn person, whose con- 
as theirs. I could digest a salad dition doth place them below their feet, 
gathered in a churchyard, as well as in Let us speak like politicians, there is a 
a garden. I cannot start at the presence nobility without heraldry, a natural 
of a serpent, scorpion, lizard, or sala- 20 dignity, whereby one man is ranked with 
mander: at the sight of a toad or viper, another; another filed before him, ac- 
I find in me no desire to take up a stone cording to the quality of his desert, and 
to destroy them. I feel not in myself pre-eminence of his good parts : though 
those common antipathies that I can dis- the corruption of these times, and the 
cover in others : those national repug- 25 bias of present practice wheel another 
nances do not touch me, nor do I be- way. Thus it was in the first and primi- 
hold with prejudice the French, Italian, five commonwealths, and is yet in the 
Spaniard and Dutch ; but where I find integrity and cradle of well-ordered 
their actions in balance with my coun- polities, till corruption getteth ground, 
trymen's, I honor, love, and embrace 3° ruder desires laboring after that which 
them in the same degree. I was born in wiser generations contemn every one 
the eighth climate, but seem for to be having a liberty to amass and heap up 
framed and constellated unto all : I am riches, and they a license or faculty to 
no plant that > will not prosper out of a do or purchase anything, 
garden : all places, all airs make unto 35 * * * 

me one country; I am in England, every- To do no injury, nor take none, was 

where, and under any meridian. I have a principle, which to my former years, 
been shipwrecked, yet am not enemy and impatient affections, seemed to con- 
with the sea or winds; I can study, play, tain enough of morality; but my more 
or sleep in a tempest. In brief, I am 40 settled years, and christian constitution, 
averse from nothing; my conscience have 'fallen upon severer resolutions. I 
would give me the lie if I should ab- can hold there is no such thing as in- 
solutely detest or hate any essence but jury; that if there be, there is no such in- 
the devil; or so at least abhor anything, jury as revenge, and no such revenge as 
but that we might come to composition. 45 the contempt of an injury; that to hate 
If there be any among those common' another, is to malign himself; that the 
objects of hatred I do contemn and truest way to love another, is to despise 
laugh at, it is that great enemy of ourselves. I were unjust unto mine own 
reason, virtue and religion, the multi- conscience, if I should say I am at va- 
tude ; that numerous piece of monstrosity, 50 riance with anything like myself. I 
which taken asunder seem men, and the find there are many pieces in this one 
reasonable creatures of God ; but con- fabric of man ; this frame is raised upon 
fused together, make but one great a mass of antipathies. I am one me- 
beast, and a monstrosity more prodigious thinks, but as the world ; wherein not- 
than Hydra. It is no breach of charity 55 withstanding there are a swarm of dis- 
to call these fools; it is the style all tinct essences, and in them another 
holy writers have afforded them, set world of contrarieties; we carry private 
down by Solomon in canonical Scripture, and domestic enemies within, public and 



I 



RELIGIO MEDICI 207 



more hostile adversaries without. The selves, the w^orld, whose divided anti- 
devil, that did but buffet St. Paul, plays pathies and contrary faces do yet carry 
methinks at sharp with me. Let me a charitable regard unto the whole by 
be nothing, if within the compass of their particular discords, preserving the 
myself I do not find the battle of Le- 5 common harmony, and keeping in fetters 
panto, passion against reason, reason those powers, whose rebellions once 
against faith, faith against the devil, and masters might be the ruin of all. 
my conscience against all. There is an- J thank God, amongst those millions 

other man within me, that 's angry with o£ vices I do inherit and hold from Adam, 
me, rebukes, commands, and dastards 10 I have escaped one, and that a mortal 
me. I have no conscience of marble, to enemy to charity, the first and [father- 
resist the hammer of more heavy of- sin], not only of man, but of the devil, 
fenses ; nor yet so soft and waxen, as pride ; a vice whose name is compre- 
to take the impression of each single hended in a monosyllable, but in its 
peccadillo or scape of infirmity: I am of 15 nature not circumscribed with a world, 
a strange belief, that it is as easy to be I have escaped it in a condition that can 
forgiven some sins, as to commit some hardly avoid it. Those petty acquisi- 
others. For my original sin, I hold it tions and reputed perfections that ad- 
to be washed away in my baptism ; for vance and elevate the conceits of other 
my actual transgressions, I compute and 20 men add no feathers unto mine. I have 
reckon with God but from my last re- seen a grammarian tower and plume him- 
pentance, sacrament, or general absolu- self over a single line in Horace, and 
tion; and therefore am not terrified with show more pride in the construction of 
the sins or madness of my youth. I one ode, than the author in the com- 
thank the goodness of God, I have no 25 posure of the whole book. For my own 
sins that want a name. I am not singu- part, besides the jargon and patois of 
lar in offenses; my transgressions are several provinces, I understand no less 
epidemical, and from the common breath than six languages; yet I protest I have 
of our corruption. For there are cer- no higher conceit of myself, than had our 
tain tempers of body, which, matched 30 fathers before the confusion of Babel, 
with a humorous depravity of mind, do when there was but one language in the 
hatch and produce vitiosities, whose new- world, and none to boast himself either 
ness and monstrosity of nature admits no linguist or critic. I have not only seen 
name. * * * Pqj- f-^e heavens are not several countries, beheld the nature of 
only fruitful in new and unheard-of 35 their climes, the chorography of their 
stars, the earth in plants and animals ; provinces, topography of their cities, 
but men's minds also in villainy and but understood their several laws, cus- 
vices. Now the dulness of my reason, toms and policies ; yet cannot all this 
and the vulgarity of my disposition, persuade the dulness of my spirit unto 
never prompted my invention, nor so- 40 such an opinion of myself, as I behold 
licited my affection unto any of those, in nimbler and conceited heads, that 
Yet even those common and quotidian never looked a degree beyond their nests, 
infirmities that so necessarily attend me, I know the names, and somewhat more, 
and do seem to be my very nature, have of all the constellations in my horizon ; 
so dejected me, so broken the estimation 45 yet I have seen a prating mariner, that 
that I should have otherwise of myself, could only name the pointers and the 
that I repute myself the most abjectest north star, out-talk me, and conceit 
piece of mortality. Divines prescribe a himself a whole sphere above me. I 
fit of sorrow to repentance ; there goes know most of the plants of my country, 
indignation, anger, sorrow, hatred, into 50 and of those about me ; yet methinks I 
mine : passions of a contrary nature, do not know so many as when I did but 
which neither seem to suit with this know a hundred, and had scarcely ever 
action, nor my proper constitution. It simpled further than Cheapside. For 
is no breach of charity to ourselves, to indeed, heads of capacity, and such as 
be at variance with our vices ; nor to 55 are not full with a handful, or easy 
abhor that part of us, which is an measure of knowledge, think they know 
enemy to the ground of charity, our God ; nothing, till they know all ; which being 
wherein we do but imitate our ^reat impossible, they fall upon the opinion 



2o8 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 



of Socrates, and only know they know picture, though it be but of a horse, 
not anything. I cannot think that Homer It is my temper, and I like it the better, 
pined away upon the riddle of the fisher- to affect all harmony; and sure there is 
man, or that Aristotle, who understood music even in the beauty, and the silent 
the uncertainty of knowledge, and con- 5 note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter 
fessed so often the reason of man too than the sound of an instrument. For 
weak for the works of nature, did ever there is a music wherever there is a 
drown himself upon the flux and reflux harmony, order or proportion ; and thus 
of Euripus. We do but learn to-day, far we may maintain the music of the 
what our better advanced judgments will 10 spheres : for those well-ordered motions, 
unteach to-morrow: and Aristotle doth and regular paces, though they give no 
not instruct us, as Plato did him; that sound unto the ear, yet to the under- 
is, to confute himself. I have run standing they strike a note most full of 
through all sorts, yet find no rest in harmony. Whosoever is harmonically 
any: though our first studies and junior 15 composed, delights in harmony; which 
endeavors may style us Peripatetics, makes me much distrust the symmetry of 
Stoics, or Academics, yet I perceive the those heads which declaim against all 
wisest heads prove, at last, almost all church-music. For myself, not only from 
sceptics, and stand like Janus in the my obedience, but my particular genius, 
field of knowledge. I have therefore 20 I do embrace it : for even that vulgar 
one common and authentic philosophy and tavern-music, which makes one man 
I learned in the schools, whereby I dis- merry, another mad, strikes in me a deep 
course and satisfy the reason of other fit of devotion, and a profound con- 
men; another more reserved, and drawn templation of the first composer. There 
from experience, whereby I content mine 25 is something in it of divinity more than 
own. Solomon, that complained of the ear discovers: it is a hieroglyphical 
ignorance in the height of knowledge, and shadowed lesson of the whole world, 
hath not only humbled my conceits, but and creatures of God; such a melody 
discouraged my endeavors. There is to the ear, as the whole world well un- 
yet another conceit that hath sometimes 3o derstood, would afford the understand- 
made me shut my books, which tells me ing. In brief, it is a sensible fit of that 
it is a vanity to waste our days in the harmony, which intellectually sounds in 
blind pursuit of knowledge; it is but at- the ears of God. I will not say with 
tending a little longer, and we shall enjoy Plato, the soul is a harmony, but har- 
that by instinct and infusion, which we 35 monical, and hath its, nearest sympathy 
endeavor at here by labor and inquisi- unto music: thus some whose temper of 
tion. It is better to sit down in a modest body agrees, and humors the constitu- 
ignorance ; and rest contented with the tion of their souls, are born poets, though 
natural blessing of our own reasons, than indeed all are naturally inclined unto 
buy the uncertain knowledge of this life, 40 rhythm. This made Tacitus in the very 
with sweat and vexation, which death first line of his story, fall upon a verse, ^ 
gives every fool gratis, and is an acces- and Cicero the worst of poets, but de- 
sory of our glorification. claiming for a poet, falls in the very first 

I was never yet once, and commend sentence upon a perfect hexameter.^ 
their resolutions who never marry twice : 45 I feel not in me those sordid ■ and un- 
not that I disallow of second marriage; christian desires of my profession; I do 
'as neither in all cases of polygamy, not secretly implore and wish for plagues, 
which considering some times, and the rejoice at famines, revolve ephemerides 
unequal number of both sexes, may be and almanacs, in expectation of malignant 
also necessary. The whole world was 5° aspects, fatal conjunctions and eclipses: 
made for man, but the twelfth part of I rejoice not at unwholesome springs, nor 
man for woman: man is the whole world, unseasonable winters; my prayer goes 
and the breath of God ; woman the rib, with the husbandman's ; I desire every- 
and crooked piece of man. * * * j thing in its proper season, that neither 
speak not in prejudice, nor am averse from 55 men nor the times be put out of lemper. 

that sweet sex, but naturally amorous of , tt ,_ t> • • • • u -u 

V, , -1 i-r 1 T 11 I, 1 lUrbem Romam in pnncipio reges habuere. 

all that IS beautiful; I can look a whole ^ p^^ ^^^;„-^ P^^^„, in qua me non inficior 
day with delight upon a handsome mediocriter esse. 



HYDRIOTAPHIA 209 



Let me be sick myself, if sometimes the What time the persons of these ossuaries 
malady of my patient be not a disease entered the famous nations of the dead,^ 
unto me; I desire rather to cure his in- and slept with princes and counsellors, 
firmities than my own necessities: where might admit a wide solution. But who 
I do him no good, methinks it is scarce 5 were the proprietaries of these bones, or 
honest gain ; though I confess 't is but the what bodies these ashes made up, were 
worthy salary of our well-intended en- a question above antiquarism, not to be 
deavors. I am not only ashamed, but resolved by man, nor easily perhaps by 
heartily sorry, that besides death, there spirits, except we consult the provincial 
are diseases incurable ; yet not for my 10 guardians, or tutelary observators. Had 
own sake, or that they be beyond my they made as good provision for their 
art, but for the general cause and sake names as they have done for their relics, 
of humanity, whose common cause I ap- they had not so grossly erred in the art 
prehend as mine own. And to speak of perpetuation. But to subsist in bones, 
more generally, those three noble profes- 15 and be but pyramidally extant, is a fal- 
sions which all civil commonwealths do lacy in duration. Vain ashes, which, 
honor are raised upon the fall of Adam, in the oblivion of names, persons, times 
and are not exempt from their infirmities ; and sexes, have found unto themselves 
there are not only diseases incurable in a fruitless continuation, and only arise 
physic, but cases _ indissolvable in laws, 20 unto late posterity as emblems of mortal 
vices incorrigible in divinity. If general vanities, antidotes against pride, vain- 
councils may err, I do not see why par- glory, and madding vices ! Pagan vain- 
ticular courts should be infallible; their glories, which thought the world might 
perfectest rules are raised upon the last forever, had encouragement for 
erroneous reasons of man; and the laws 25 ambition, and finding no Atropos unto the 
of one do but condemn the rules of an- immortality of their names, were never 
other; as Aristotle oft-times the opinions damped with the necessity of obHvion. 
of his predecessors, * because, though Even old ambitions had the advantage of 
agreeable to reason, yet were not con- ours in the attempts of their vain-glories, 
sonant to his own rules, and logic of his 30 who acting early, and before the probable 
proper principles. Again, to speak noth- meridian of time, have by this time found 
ing of the sin against the Holy Ghost, great accomplishment of their designs, 
whose cure not only, but whose nature whereby the ancient heroes have already 
is unknown; I can cure the gout or stone out-lasted their monuments and mechan- 
in some, sooner than divinity pride or 35 ical preservations. But in this latter 
avarice in others. I can cure vices by scene of time we cannot expect such 
physic, when they remain incurable by mummies unto our memories, when ambi- 
divinity; and shall obey my pills, when tion may fear the prophecy of Elias;^ 
they contemn their precepts. I boast and Charles the Fifth can never hope to 
nothing, but plainly say, we all labor 40 live within two Methuselahs of Hector.* 
against our own cure; for death is the And therefore restless inquietude for 

cure of all diseases. There is no cath- the diuturnity of our memories unto 
olicon or universal remedy I know but present considdrations seems a vanity al- 
this, which though nauseous to queasy most out of date, and a superannuated 
stomachs, yet to prepared appetites is 45 piece of folly. We cannot hope to live 
nectar, and a pleasant potion of im- so long in our names as some have done 
mortality. in their persons : one face of Janus holds 

* * * no proportion to the other. 'T is too late 

to be ambitious. The great mutations of 

From HYDRIOTAPHIA URN- 50 the world are acted, or time may be too 

BURIAL short for our designs. To extend our 

memories by monuments, whose death we 
What song the Syrens sang, or what daily pray for, and whose duration we 
name Achilles assumed when he hid him- cannot hope without injury to our ex- 
self among women, though puzzling 55 
questions,^ are not beyond all conjecture. 'KXura e6vea veKpCiv. Hom. Job. 

^ That the world may last but six thousand years, 
* The puzzling- questions of Tiberius unto gram- * Hector's fame lasting above two lives of Me- 

marians. Marcel. Donatus in Suet. thuselah, before that famous prince was extant. 



210 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 



pectations in the advent of the last day, the founder of the pyramids? Herostra- 
were a contradiction to our beHefs. We, tus Hves that burnt the temple of Diana; 
whose generations are ordained in this he is almost lost that built it. Time hath 
setting part of time, are providentially spared +-he epitaph .of Adrian's horse, 
taken off from such imaginations ; and, 5 confounded that of himself. In vain we 
being necessitated to eye the remaining compute our felicities by the advantage 
particle of futurity, are naturally con- of our good names, since bad have equal 
stituted unto thoughts of the next world, durations; and Thersites is like to live 
and cannot excusably decline the con- as long as Agamemnon, without the 
sideration of that duration which maketh 10 favor of the everlasting register. Who 
pyramids pillars of snow, and all that 's knows whether the best of men be 
past a moment. known? or whether there be not more 

Circles and right lines limit and close remarkable persons forgot, than any that 
all bodies, and the mortal right-lined stand remembered in the known account 
circle 1 must conclude and shut up all. 15 of time? The first man had been as 
There is no antidote against the opium unknown as the last, and Methuselah's 
of time, which temporally considereth all long life had been his only chronicle, 
things. Our fathers find their graves in Oblivion is not to be hired: the greater 

our short memories, and sadly tell us part must be content to be as though they 
how we may be buried in our survivors. 20 had not been, to be found in the register 
Grave-stones tell truth scarce forty of God, not in the record of man. 
years.2 Generations pass while some Twenty-seven names make up the first 
trees stand, and old families last not three story, and the recorded names ever since 
oaks. To be read by bare inscriptions, contain not one living century. The 
like many in Gruter,^ to hope for eternity 25 number of the dead long exceedeth all 
by enigmatical epithets or first letters of that shall live. The night of time far 
our names, to be studied by antiquaries surpasseth the day, and who knows when 
who we were, and have new names given was the equinox? Every hour adds unto 
us like many of the mummies, are cold that current arithmetic, which scarce 
consolations unto the students of per- 3° stands one moment. And since death 
petuity, even by everlasting languages. must be the Lucina of life, and even 

To be content that times to come pagans could doubt whether thus to live 
should only know there was such a man, were to die; since our longest sun sets 
not caring whether they knew more of at right descensions, and makes but 
him, was a frigid ambition in Cardan,* 35 winter arches, and therefore it cannot 
disparaging his horoscopal inclination be long before we lie down in darkness, 
and judgment of himself. Who cares to and have our light in ashes; since the 
subsist like Hippocrates' patients, or brother of death daily haunts us with 
Achilles' horses in Homer, under naked dying mementoes, and time, that grows 
nominations, without deserts and noble 40 old itself, bids us hope no long duration : 
acts, which are the balsam of our mem- diuturnity is a dream and folly of expec- 
orie's, the entelechia and soul of our sub- tation. 

sistences. To be nameless in worthy Darkness and light divide the course 
deed exceeds an infamous history. The of time, and oblivion shares with memory 
Canaanitish woman lives more happily 45 a great part even of our Hving beings; 
without a name, than Herodias with one. we slightly remember our felicities, and 
And who had not rather have been the the smartest strokes of affliction leave 
good thief, than Pilate? but short smart upon us. Sense endureth 

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly no extremities, and sorrows destroy us 
scattereth her poppy, and deals with the 50 or themselves. To weep into stones are 
memory of men without distinction to fables. Afflictions induce callosites, mis- 
merit of perpetuity. Who can but pity eries are slippery, or fall like snow upon 

us, which notwithstanding is no stupidity. 

1 e The character of death. Xo be ignorant of evils to come, and 

^Old ones being taken up, and other bodies laid ^^ forgetfuf of evils past, is merciful provi- 
under them. . " . . , , j • i i.u „ 

^Gruteri inscriptiones Antiquae. sion m nature, whereby we digest the 

* Cuperem notum esse quod sim, non opto ut mixture of our few and evil days, and 

tciatur quaiis sim. Card, in vita propria. q^j. delivered senses not relapsing into 



HYDRIOTAPHIA 21 1 



cutting remembrances, our sorrows are from the power of itself. But the suffi- 
not kept raw by the edge of repetitions. ciency of christian immortahty frustrates 
A great part of antiquity contented their all earthly glory, and the quality of 
hopes of subsistency with a transmigra- either state after death makes a folly 
tion of their souls. A good way to con- 5 of posthumous memory. God, who can 
tinue their memories, while having the only destroy our souls, and hath assured 
advantage of plural successions, they our resurrection, either of our bodies or 
could not but act something remarkable names hath directly promised no dura- 
in such variety of beings, and enjoying tion; wherein there is so much of chance, 
the fame of their passed selves, make lo that the boldest expectants have found 
accumulation. o£ glory unto their last unhappy frustration; and to hold long 
durations. Others, rather than be lost subsistence, seems but a scape in oblivion, 
in the uncomfortable night of nothing, But man is a noble animal, splendid in 
were content to recede into the common ashes, and pompous in the grave, solem- 
being, and make one particle of the pub- i5 nizing nativities and deaths with equal 
lie soul of all things, which was no more luster nor omitting ceremonies of brav- 
than to return into their unknown and ery in the infamy of his nature, 
divine original again. Egyptian ingenu- Life is a pure flame, and we live by an 

ity was more unsatisfied, contriving their invisible sim within us. A small fire 
bodies in sweet consistencies to attend 20 sufSceth for life, great flames seemed 
the return of their souls. But all was too little after death, while men vainly 
vanity,^ feeding the wind, and folly. The affected precious pyres, and to burn like 
Egyptian mummies, which Cambyses or Sardanapalus. But the wisdom of fu- 
time hath spared, avarice now consumeth. neral laws found the folly of prodigal 
Mummy is become merchandise, Mizraim 25 blazes, and reduced undoing fires, unto 
cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for the rule of sober obsequies, wherein few 
balsams. could be so mean as not to provide wood, 

In vain do individuals hope for im- pitch, a mourner, and an urn. 
mortality, or any patent from oblivion. Five languages secured not the epitaph 

in preservations below the moon ; men 30 of Gordianus. The man of God lives 
have been deceived even in their flatteries longer without a tomb than any by one, 
above the sun, and studied conceits to invisibly interred by angels, and adjudged 
perpetuate their names in heaven. The to obscurity, though not without some 
various cosmography of that part hath marks directing human discovery. Enoch 
already varied the names of contrived 35 and Elias, without either tomb or burial, 
constellations; Nimrod is lost in Orion, in an anomalous state of being, are the 
and Osiris in the dog-star. While we great examples of perpetuity in their 
look for incorruption in the heavens, we long and living memory, in strict ac- 
find they are but like the earth; durable count being still on this side death, and 
in their main bodies, alterable in their 40 having a late part yet to act upon this 
parts: whereof, beside comets and new stage of earth. If in the decretory term 
stars, perspectives begin to tell tales; and of the world we shall not all die, but be. 
the spots that wander about the sun, with changed, according to received transla- 
Phaethon's favor, would make clear con- tion, the last day will make but few 
viction. 45 graves ; at least quick resurrections will 

There is nothing strictly immortal but anticipate lasting sepultures: some graves 
immortality; whatever hath no beginning will be opened before they be quite 
may be confident of no end: (all others closed, and Lazarus be no wonder, when 
have a dependent being, and within the many that feared to die shall groan that 
reach of destruction) which is the 50 they can die but once. The dismal state 
peculiar of that necessary essence that is- the second and living death, when 
cannot destroy itself; and the highest life puts despair on the damned; when 
strain of omnipotency, to be so power- men shall wish the coverings of moun- 
fully constituted, as not to suffer even tains, not of monuments, and annihila- 

55 tion shall be courted. 

■■ Omnia vanitas et pastio venti, vouM dviuov, 
BoffKvo'iS ut olim Aquila et Symmachus. v. Drus, •»;!:;): 

Eccles. 



ISAAK WALTON (1593-1683) 

The Complete Angler (1653) is one of the best established of the English classics, holding 
its place through succeeding ages by its unaffected simplicity and charming naturalness. Its 
author, when he was not fishing and enjoying country sights and sounds, was a London linen 
draper with many pleasant friendships, including some of the leading men of the time; his 
life was happy and uneventful. 



THE COMPLETE ANGLER affirmed by Gesner, a writer of good 

credit; and Mercator says the trouts 

CHAPTER IV that are taken in the Lake of Geneva 

..^^.^^ .,.x^ ^T,r.T^T^ sfe a ereat part of the merchandise of 

OBSERVATIONS OF THE NATURE AND BREED- ,, . r '^ ^ •, a j x ^-l, 

.r. r ^^ ^Tc^TT 5 that famous city. And you are further 

ING OF THE TROUT, AND HOW TO FISH " , . ^.u t. 4.U u i ■ 4. 4.U t. 

.TT.,,. .xr.v o^.T^ to know that there be certain waters that 

FOR HIM : AND THE MILKMAID S SONG i, j . 4. 1 1,1 1, *u £ *!, • 

' breed trouts remarkable both for their 

The trout is a fish highly valued both number and smallness. I know a little 
in this and foreign nations: he may be brook in Kent that breeds them to a 
justly said, as the old poet said of wine, lo number incredible, and you may take 
and we English say of venison, to be a them twenty or forty in an hour, but 
generous fish: a fish that is so like the none greater than about the size of a 
buck that he also has his seasons; for it gudgeon: there are also in divers rivers, 
is observed, that he comes in and goes especially that relate to or be near to 
out of season with the stag and buck. 15 the sea, as Winchester or the Thames 
Gesner says his name is of a German about Windsor, a little trout called a 
offspring, and says he is a fish that feeds samlet or skegger trout (in both which 
clean and purely, in the swiftest streams, places I have caught twenty or forty at 
and on the hardest gravel; and that he a standing), that will bite as fast and as 
may justly contend with all fresh-water 20 freely as minnows; these be by some 
fish, as the mullet may with all sea-fish, taken to be young salmons; but in those 
for precedency and daintiness of taste, waters they never grow to be bigger than 
and that being in right season, the most a herring. 

dainty palates have allowed precedency There is also in Kent, near to Canter- 
to him. 25 bury, a trout called there a Fordidge 
And before I go further in my dis- trout, a trout that bears the name of the 
course, let me tell you, that you are to town where it is usually caught, that 
observe, that as there be some barren is accounted the rarest of fish: many of 
does that are good in summer, so there them near the bigness of salmon, but 
be some barren trouts that are good in 30 known by their different color; and_ in 
winter; but there are not many that are their best season they cut very white; 
so, for usually they be in their perfec- and none of these have been known to 
tion in the month of May, and decline be caught with an angle, unless it were 
with the buck. Now you are to take one that was caught by Sir George 
notice that in several countries, as in 35 Hastings, an excellent angler, and now 
Germany and in other parts, compared with God: and he hath told me, he 
to ours, fish differ much in their bigness thought that trout bit not for hunger 
and shape, and other ways, and so do but wantonness; and it is rather to be 
trouts: it is well known that in the Lake believed, because both he then, and many 
Leman, the Lake of Geneva, there are 40 others before him, have been curious to 
trouts taken of three cubits long, as is search into their bellies, what the food 

212 



THE COMPLETE ANGLER 213 

was by which they Hved, and have found And so much for these Fordidge trouts, 

out nothing by which they might satisfy which never afford an angler sport, but 
their curiosity. either Hve their time of being in the fresh 

Concerning which you are to take water, by their meat formerly got in the 
notice that it is reported by good authors 5 sea (not unlike the swallow or frog), or 
that grasshoppers and some fish have no by the virtue of the fresh water only; 
mouths, but are nourished and take or, as the birds of Paradise and the 
breath by the porousness of their gills, chameleon are said to live by the sun and 
man knows not how : and this may be the air. 

believed, if we consider that when the 10 There is also in Northumberland a 
raven hath hatched her eggs, she takes trout called a bull trout, of a much 
no further care, but leaves her young greater length and bigness than any in 
ones to the care of the God of nature, the southern parts. And there are, in 
who is said, in the Psalms, * to feed the many rivers that relate to the sea, salmon 
young ravens that call upon him.' And 15 trouts, as much different from others, 
they be kept alive and fed by dew, or both in shape and in their spots, as we 
worms that breed in their nests, or some see sheep in some countries differ one 
other ways that we mortals know not; from another in their shape and bigness, 
and this may be believed of the Fordidge and in the fineness of their wool. And 
trout, which, as it is said of the stork 20 certainly, as some pastures breed larger 
(Jerem. viii. 7), that * he knows his sheep, so do some rivers, by reason of the 
season,' so he knows his times, I think ground over which they run, breed larger 
almost his day of coming into that river trouts. 

out of the sea, where he lives, and, it is Now the next thing that I will corn- 

like, feeds nine months of the year, 25 mend to your consideration is that the 
and fasts three in the river of Fordidge. trout is of a more sudden growth than 
And you are to note that those townsmen other fish. Concerning which, you are 
are very punctual in observing the time also to take notice that he lives not so 
of beginning to fish for them, and boast long as the perch and divers other fishes 
much that their river affords a trout thatso do, as Sir Francis Bacon hath observed 
exceeds all others. And just so does in his History of Life and Death. 
Sussex boast of several fish : as namely, And now you are to take notice that 
a Shelsey cockle, a Chichester lobster, he is not like the crocodile, which if he 
an Arundel mullet, and an Amerly lives never so long, yet always thrives 
trout. 35 till his death ; but 't is not so with the 

And now for some confirmation of the trout; for after he is come to his full 
Fordidge trout: you are to know that growth, he declines in his body, and 
this trout is thought to eat nothing in keeps his bigness or thrives only in his 
the fresh water; and it may be better head till his death. And you are to 
believed, because it is well known that 40 know that he will about, especially before, 
swallows and bats and wagtails, which the time of his spawning, get almost 
are called half-year birds, and not seen miraculously through weirs and flood- 
to fly in England for six months in the gates against the streams; even through 
year, but about Michaelmas leave us for such high and swift places as is almost 
a better climate than this ; yet some of 45 incredible. Next, that the trout usually 
them that have been left behind their spawns about October or November, but 
fellows, have been found many thousands in some rivers a little sooner or later; 
at a time, in hollow trees, or clay caves; which is the more observable, because 
where they have been observed to live most other fish spawn in the spring or 
and sleep out the whole winter without 5° summer, when the sun hath warmed both 
meat; and so Albertus observes, that the earth and the water, and made it fit 
there is one kind of frog that hath her for generation. And you are to note, 
mouth naturally shut up about the end that he continues many months out of 
of August, and that she lives so all the season ; for it may be observed of the 
winter ; and though it be strange to some, 55 trout, that he is like the buck or the ox, 
yet it is known to too many among us that will not be fat in many months, 
to be doubted. though he go in the very same pasture 



214 IZAAK WALTON 



that horses do, which will be fat in one of trouts ; just as pigeons do in most 
month ; and so you may observe that most places ; though it is certain there are 
other fishes recover strength, and grow tame and wild pigeons ; and of the tame, 
sooner fat and in season, than the trout there be helmets and runts, and carriers 
doth. 5 and cropers, and indeed too many to 

And next you are to note that till the name. Nay, the Royal Society have 
sun gets to such a height as to warm the found and published lately that there be 
earth and the water, the trout is sick thirty and three kinds of spiders; and 
and lean, and lousy, and unwholesome; yet all, for aught I know, go under that 
for you shall in winter find him to have lo one general name of spider. And it is 
a big head, and then to be lank, and so with many kinds of fish, and of trouts 
thin, and lean; at which time many of especially, which differ in their bigness 
them have sticking on them sugs, or and shape and spots and color. The 
trout-lice, which is a kind of worm, in great Kentish hens may be an instance, 
shape like a clove or pin, with a big 15 compared to other hens. And, doubtless, 
head, and sticks close to him and sucks there is a kind of small trout, which will 
his moisture : those I think the trout never thrive to be big, that breeds very 
breeds himself, and never thrives till he many more than others do, that be of a 
free himself from them, which is when larger size; which you may rather be- 
warm weather comes ; and then, as he 20 lieve if you consider that the little wren 
grows stronger, he gets from the dead, and titmouse will have twenty young ones 
still water, into the sharp streams and at a time, when usually the noble hawk or 
the gravel, and there rubs off these the musical thrassel or blackbird exceed 
worms or lice; and then as he grows not four or five. 

stronger, so he gets him into swifter and 25 And now you shall see me try my 
swifter streams, and there lies at the skill to catch a trout; and at my next 
watch for any fly or minnow that comes walking, either this evening or to-morrow 
near to him ; and he especially loves the morning, I will give you direction how 
May-fly, which is bred of the cod-worm you yourself shall fish for him. 
or caddis; and these make the trout bold 30 Venator [The Hunter]. Trust me, 
and lusty, and he is usually fatter and master, I see now it is a harder matter 
better meat at that end of that month to catch a trout than a chub; for I have 
[May] than at any time of the year. put on patience and followed you these 

Now you are to know that it is two hours, and not seen a fish stir, 
observed that usually the best trouts are 35 neither at your minnow nor your worm, 
either red or yellow; though some (as Piscator [The Angler]. Well, schol- 

the Fordidge trout) be white and yet ar, you must endure worse luck some 
good; but that is not usual: and it is a time, or you will never make a good 
note observable, that the female trout angler. But what say you now? There 
hath usually a less head and a deeper 40 is a trout now, and a good one too, if 
body than the male trout, and is usually I can but hold him, and two or three 
the better meat. And note that a hog- more turns more will tire him. Now you 
back and a little head to either trout, see he lies still, and the sleight is to land 
salmon, or any other fish, is a sign that him. Reach me that landing-net; so, sir, 
that fish is in season, 45 now he is mine own. What say you 

But yet you are to note that as you see now? is not this worth all my labor and 
some willows or palm-trees bud and your patience? 

blossom sooner than others do, so some Ven, On my word, master, this is a 

trouts be in rivers sooner in season; and gallant trout: what shall we do with 
as some hollies or oaks are longer before 50 him ? 

they cast their leaves, so are some trouts Pisc. Marry, e'en eat him to supper: 

in rivers longer before they go out of we '11 go to my hostess, from whence we 
season. came ; she told me, as I was going out 

And you are to note that there are of door, that my brother Peter, a good 
several kinds of trouts ; but these several 55 angler and a cheerful companion, had 
kinds are not considered but by very few sent word that he would lodge there to- 
men; for they go under the general name night, and bring a friend with him. My 



I 



I 



THE COMPLETE ANGLER 215 



hostess has two beds, and I know you and As I left this place, and entered into 

I may have the best ; we 'II rejoice with the next field, a second pleasure enter- 
my brother Peter and his friend, tell tained me; 'twas a handsome milkmaid, 
tales, or sing- ballads, or make a catch, that had not yet attained so much age and 
or find some harmless sport to content us 5 wisdom as to load her mind with any 
and pass away a little time, without fears of many things that will never be, 
offense to God or man. as too many men too often do ; but she 

Ven. a match, good m.aster, let's go cast away all care, and sang like a night- 
to that house, for the linen looks white ingale : her voice was good, and the ditty 
and smells of lavender, and I long to 10 fitted for it : it was that smooth song 
lie in a pair of sheets that smells so. which was made by Kit Marlow, now at 
Let's be going, good master, for I am least fifty years ago; and the milkmaid's 
hungry again with fishing. mother sang an answer to it, which was 

Pisc. Nay, stay a little, good scholar, made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his 
I caught my last trout with a worm ; now 15 younger days. 

I will put on a minnow, and try a' quarter They were old-fashioned poetry, but 

of an hour about yonder trees for an- choicely good; I think much better than 
other; and so walk towards our lodging, the strong lines that are now in fashion 
Look you, scholar, thereabout we shall in this critical age. Look yonder; on my 
have a bite presently or not at all. Have 20 word, yonder they both be a-milking 
with you, sir ! o' my word I have hold again. I will give her the chub, and 
of him. Oh ! it is a great logger-headed persuade them to sing those two songs to 
chub; come hang him upon that willow us. 

twig, and let's be going. But turn out God speed you, good woman! I have 

of the way a little, good scholar, towards 25 been a-fishing and am going to Bleak 
yonder high honeysuckle hedge; there Hall to my bed, and having caught more 
we '11 sit and sing, whilst this shower fish than will sup myself and friend, I 
falls so gently upon the teeming earth, will bestow this upon you and your 
and gives yet a sweeter smell to the daughter, for I use to sell none, 
lovely flowers that adorn these verdant 30 Milk-W. Marry, God requite you, sir, 
meadows. and we'll eat it cheerfully; and if you 

Look I under that broad beech-tree I come this way a-fishing two months 
sat down, when I was last this way hence, a grace of God, I '11 give you a 
a-fishing. And the birds in the adjoin- syllabub of new verjuice in a new-made 
ing grove seemed to have a friendly con- 35 hay-cock for it, and my Maudlin shall 
tention with an echo, whose dead voice sing you one of her best ballads ; for she 
seemed to live in a hollow tree, near to and I both love all anglers, they be such 
the brow of that primrose hill. There honest, civil, quiet men: in the meantime 
I sat viewing the silver streams glide will you drink a draft of red cow's 
silently towards their center, the tem- 4° milk ? you shall have it freely, 
pestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by Pisc. No, I thank you; but, I pray, 

rugged roots and pebble-stones, which do us a courtesy that shall stand you and 
broke their waves, and turned them into your daughter in nothing, and yet we will 
foam. And sometimes I beguiled time by think ourselves still something in your 
viewing the harmless lambs; some leap- 45 debt; it is but to sing us a song that was 
ing securely in the cool shade, whilst sung by your daughter when I last passed 
others sported themselves in the cheer- over this meadow, about eight or nine 
ful sun; and saw others craving comfort days since. 

from the swollen udders of their bleating Milk-W. What song was it, I pray? 

dams. As I thus sat, these and other 50 Was it Come, shepherds, deck your 

sights had so fully possessed my soul heads? or. As at noon Dulcina rested? 

with content, that I thought, as the poet or, Phillida flouts me? or, Chevy Chase? 

hath happily expressed it, or, Johnny Armstrong? or, Troy Town? 

^ i , , _ Pisc. No, it is none of those; it is a 

1 wars for that time lifted above earth, 55 song that your daughter sang the first 

And possessed joys not promised ii? m^ part, and you sang the answer to it 

b""^^^- MiLK-W. Oh, 'I know it now. I 



2l6 



IZAAK WALTON 



learned it the first part in my golden 
age, when I was about the age of my 
poor daughter; and the latter part, which 
indeed fits me best now, but two or three 
years ago, when tl\e cares of the world 
began to take hold of me : but you shall, 
God willing, hear them both, and sung as 
well as we can, for we both love anglers. 
Come, Maudlin, sing the first part to the 
gentlemen with a merry heart, and I '11 
sing the second, when you have done. 

THE milkmaid's SONG 



innocent, pretty Maudlin does so. I '11 
bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's milk- 
maid's wish upon her, ' That she may die 
in the spring, and being dead, may have 
5 good store of flowers stuck round about 
her winding-sheet.' 



THE MILKMAIDS MOTHERS ANSWER 

If all the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 



25 



Come, live with me, and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That valleys, groves, or hills, or field. 
Or woods and steepy mountains yield; 

Where we will sit upon the rocks, 

And see the shepherds feed our flocks 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

And I will make thee beds of roses. 
And then a thousand fragrant posies. 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; 



A gown made of the finest wool ^° 

Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 
Slippers lined choicely for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold; 

A belt of straw and ivy-buds, 35 

With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come, live with me, and be my love. 

Thy silver dishes for my meat, 4© 

As precious as the gods do eat. 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, 45 
For thy delight, each May morning. 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me, and be my love. 

Ven. Trust me, master, it is a choice 50 
song, and sweetly sung by honest Maud- 
lin. I now see it was not without cause 
that our good Queen Elizabeth did so 
often wish herself a milkmaid all the 
month of May, because they are not 55 
troubled with fears and cares, and sing 
sweetly all the day and sleep securely all 
the night; and without doubt, honest, 



15 But time drives flocks from field to fold. 
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; 
Then Philomel becometh dumb. 
And age complains of care to come. 

20 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields. 
A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 



Thy gowns, thy shoes, "thy beds of roses. 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs. 
All these in me no means can move 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

What should we talk of dainties then. 
Of better meat than 's fit for men? 
These are but vain ; that 's only good 
Which God hath blest, and sent for food. 

But could youth last and love still breed, 
Had joys no date nor age no need; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee, and be thy love. 

Pisc. Well sung, good woman ; I 
thank you. I '11 give you another dish 
of fish one of these days, and then beg 
another song of you. Come, scholar, let 
Maudlin alone; do not you oflfer to spoil 
her voice. Look, yonder comes mine 
hostess, to call us to supper. How now? 
Is my brother Peter come? 

Host. Yes, and a friend with him, 
they are both glad to hear that you are 
in these parts, and long to see you, and 
long to be at supper, for they be very 
hungry. 



THOMAS FULLER (1608-1661) 

Fuller retained more than his contemporaries of the Elizabethan quaiutness and humor. 
Although a clergyman and an army chaplain during the Civil War, he was not a keen 
partisan, and kept his position at Waltham Abbey under the Commonwealth. At the Restora- 
tion he was made chaplain to the king, and would have become a bishop, if he had not been 
suddenly carried off by a fever. His chief works were The Holy State (1642) and The 
Worthies of England, published the year after his death. 



THE LIFE OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE of his ship, that he might lawfully re- 

FROM THE HOLY STATE, BK. II, CH. XXII ^°^^.^ '}\ ^f'^^ of the king of Spain, and 

repair his losses upon him anywhere else. 

Francis Drake was born nigh South The case was clear in sea-divinity; and 
Tavistock in Devonshire, and brought 5 few are such infidels, as not to believe 
up in Kent; God dividing the honor be- doctrines which make for their own 
twixt two counties, that the one might profit. Whereupon Drake, though a poor 
have his birth, and the other his educa- private man, hereafter undertook to 
tion. His father, being a minister, fled revenge himself on so mighty a monarch ; 
into Kent, for fear of the Six Articles, lo who, as not contented that the sun riseth 
wherein the sting of Popery still remained and setteth in his dominions, may seem 
in England, though the teeth thereof to desire to make all his own where he 
were knocked out, and the Pope's suprem- shineth. And now let us see how a 
acy abolished. Coming into Kent, he dwarf, standing on the mount of God's 
bound his son Francis apprentice to the 15 providence, may prove an overmatch for 
master of a small bark, which traded a giant. 

into France and Zealand, where he un- After two or three several voyages to 
derwent a hard service; and pains, with gain intelligence in the West Indies, and 
patience in his youth, did knit the joints some prizes taken, at last he effectually 
of his soul, and made them more solid 20 set forward from Plymouth with two 
and compacted. His master, dying un- ships, the one of seventy, the other 
married, in reward of his industry, be- twenty-five tons, and seventy-three men 
queathed his bark unto him for a legacy. and boys in both. He made with all 

For some time he continued his mas- speed and secrecy to Nombre de Dios, 
ter's profession ; but the narrow seas 25 as loath to put the town to too much 
were a prison for so large a spirit, born charge (which he knew they would will- 
for greater undertakings. He soon grew ingly bestow) in providing beforehand 
weary of his bark; which would scarce for his entertainment; which city was 
go alone, but as it crept along by the then the granary of the West Indies, 
shore : wherefore, selling it, he unfor- 30 wherein the golden harvest brought from 
tunately ventured most of his estate with Panama was hoarded up till it could be 
Captain John Hawkins into the West conveyed into Spain. They came hard 
Indies, in 1567; whose goods were taken aboard the shore, and lay quiet all night, 
by the Spaniards at St. John de Ulva, and intending to attempt the town in the 
he himself scarce escaped with life : the 35 dawning of the day. 

king of Spain being so tender in those But he was forced to alter his reso- 

parts, that the least touch doth wound lution, and assault it sooner; for he 
him; and so jealous of the West Indies, heard his men muttering amongst them- 
his wife, that willingly he would have selves of the strength and greatness of 
none look upon her : he therefore used 40 the town : and when men's heads are 
them with the greater severity. once fly-blown with buzzes of suspicion, 

Drake was persuaded by the minister the vermin multiplv instantly, and one 

217 



2i8 THOMAS FULLER 



jealousy begets another. Wherefore, he wealth, and burnt at the House of Crosses 
raised them from their nest before they above two hundred thousand pounds' 
had hatched their fears; and, to put worth of Spanish merchandise, he re- 
away those conceits, he persuaded them turned with honor and safety into Eng- 
it was day-dawning when the moon rose, 5 land, and, some years after (December 
and instantly set on the town, and won 13th, 1577) undertook that his famous 
it, being unwalled. In the market-place voyage about the world, most accurately 
the Spaniards saluted them with a volley described by our English authors: and 
of shot; Drake returned their greeting yet a word or two thereof will not be 
with a flight of arrows, the best and 10 amiss. 

ancient English compliment, which drave Setting forward from Plymouth, he 

their enemies away. Here Drake re- bore up for Cabo-verd, where, near to the 
ceived a dangerous wound, though- he island of St. Jago, he took prisoner Nuno 
valiantly concealed it a long time; know- de Silva, an experienced Spanish pilot, 
ing if his heart stooped, his men's would 15 whose direction he used in the coasts 
fall, and loath to leave off the action, of Brazil and Magellan Straits, and 
wherein *if so bright an opportunity once afterwards safely landed him at Gua- 
setteth, it seldom riseth again. But at tulco in New Spain. Hence they took 
length his men forced him to return to their course to the Island of Brava ; and 
his ship, that his wound might be 20 hereabouts they met with those tempest- 
dressed ; and this unhappy accident de- uous winds whose only praise is, that 
feated the whole design. Thus victory they continue not an hour, in which time 
sometimes slips through their fingers they change all the points of the com- 
who have caught it in their hands. pass. Here they had great plenty of 

But his valor would not let him give 25 rain, poured (not, as in other places, as 
over the project as long as there was it were out of sieves, but) as out of 
either life or warmth in it ; and there- spouts, so that a butt of water falls down 
fore, having received intelligence from in a place ; which, notwithstanding, is 
the negroes called Symerons, of many but a courteous injury in that hot cli- 
mules'-lading of gold and silver, which 30 mate far from land, and where other- 
was to be brought from Panama, he, wise fresh water cannot be provided, 
leaving competent numbers to man his Then cutting the Line, they saw the 
ships, went on land with the rest, and face of that heaven which earth hideth 
bestowed himself in the woods by the from us, but therein only three stars of 
way as they were to pass, and so inter- 35 the first greatness, the rest few and 
cepted and carried away an infinite mass small compared to our hemisphere ; as 
of gold. As for the silver, which was if God, on purpose, had set up the best 
not portable over the mountains, they and biggest candles in that room wherein 
digged holes in the ground and hid it his civilest guests are entertained, 
therein. 40 Sailing the south of Brazil, he after- 

There want not those who love to beat wards passed the Magellan Straits (Au- 
down the price of every honorable ac- gust 20th, 1578) and then entered Mare 
tion, though they themselves never mean PaciUcuni [the Pacific Ocean], came to the 
to be chapmen. These cry up Drake's southernmost land at the height of 55^4 
fortune herein to cry down his valor; 45 latitudes; thence directing his course 
as if this his performance were nothing, northward, he pillaged many Spanish 
wherein a golden opportunity ran his towns, and took rich prizes of high value 
head, with his long forelock, into in the kingdoms of Chili, Peru, and New 
Drake's hands beyond expectation. But, Spain. Then, bending eastwards, he 
certainly, his resolution and unconquer-5o coasted China, and the Moluccas, where, 
able patience deserved much praise, to by the king of Terrenate, a true gen- 
adventure on such a design, which had tleman Pagan, he was most honorably 
in it just no more probability than what entertained. The king told them, they 
was enough to keep it from being im- and he were all of one religion in this 
possible. Yet I admire not so much at 55 respect, — that they believed not in gods 
all the treasure he took, as at the rich made of stocks and stones, as did the 
and deep mine of God's providence. Portugals. He furnished them also with 

Having now full freighted himself with all necessaries that they wanted. 



THE LIFE OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE 219 

On January 9th following (1579), his their envious pride was above their cov- 
ship, having a large wind and a smooth etousness, who of set purpose did blur 
sea, ran aground on a dangerous shoal, the fair copy of his performance, because 
and struck twice on it ; knocking twice they would not take pains to write after 
at the door of death, which, no doubt, 5 it. 

had opened the third time. Here they I pass by his next West-Indian voy- 

stuck, from eight o'clock at night till age (1585), wherein he took the cities 
four the next afternoon, having ground of St. Jago, St. Domingo, Carthagena, 
too much, and yet too little to land on ; and St. Augustine in Florida ; as also 
and water too much, and yet too little 10 his service performed in 1588, wherein 
to sail in. Had God (who, as the wise he, with many others, helped to the wan- 
man saith, ' holdeth the winds in his ing of that half-moon, which sought to 
fist,' Prov. XXX. 4) but opened his little govern all the motion of our sea. I 
finger, and let out the smallest blast, haste to his last voyage, 
they had undoubtedly been cast away; 15 Queen Elizabeth, in 1595, perceiving 
but there blew not any wind all the that the only way to make the Spaniard 
while. Then they, conceiving aright a cripple forever, was to cut his sinews 
that the best way to lighten the ship was, of war in the West Indies, furnished 
first, to ease it of the burden of their Sir Francis Drake, and Sir John Hawk- 
sins by true repentance, humbled them- 20 ins, with six of her own ships, besides 
selves, by fasting, under the hand of twenty-one ships and barks of their own 
God. Afterwards they received the com- providing, containing in all two thou- 
munion, dining on Christ in the sacra- sand five hundred men and boys, for 
ment, expecting no other than to sup some service on America. But, alas ! 
with him in heaven. Then they cast out 25 this voyage was marred before begun, 
of their ship six great pieces of ordnance. For, so great preparations being too 
threw overboard as much wealth as big for a cover, the king of Spain knew 
would break the heart of a miser to think of it, and sent a caraval of adviso to 
on it, with much sugar, and packs of the West Indies ; so that they had in- 
spices, making a caudle of the sea round 30 telligence three weeks before the fleet 
about. Then they betook themselves to set forth of England, either to fortify 
their prayers, the best lever at such a or remove their treasure ; whereas, in 
dead lift indeed ; and it pleased God, that other of Drake's voyages, not two of 
the wind, formerly their mortal enemy, his own men knew whither he went; 
became their friend ; which, changing 35 and managing such a design is like 
from the starboard to the larboard of carrying a mine in war, — if it hath any 
the ship, and rising by degrees, cleared vent, all is spoiled. Besides, Drake and 
them off to the sea again, — for which Hawkins, being in joint commission, 
they returned unfeigned thanks to Al- hindered each other. The latter took 
mighty God. 40 himself to be inferior rather in success 

By the Cape of Good Hope and west than skill; and the action was unlike 
of Africa, he returned safe into England, to prosper when neither would follow, 
and (November 3rd, 1580) landed at and both could not handsomely go 
Plymouth (being almost the first of abreast. It vexed old Hawkins, that his 
those that made a thorough light 45 counsel was not followed, in present 
through the world), having, in his whole sailing to America, but that they spent 
voyage, though a curious searcher after time in vain in assaulting the Canaries ; 
the time, lost one day through the varia- and the grief that his advice was slighted, 
tion of several climates. He feasted the say some, was the cause of his death, 
queen in his ship at Dartford, who 50 Others impute it to the sorrow he took 
knighted him for his service. Yet it for the taking of his bark called ' the 
grieved him not a little, that some prime Francis,' which five Spanish frigates had 
courtiers refused the gold he offered intercepted. But when the same heart 
them, as gotten by piracy. Some of hath two mortal wounds given it to- 
them would have been loath to have been 55 gether, it is hard to say which of them 
told, that they had auriim Tholosanum killeth. 

[gold of Spain] in their own purses. Drake continued his course for Porto 

Some think, that they did it to show that Rico; and, riding within the road, a shot 



220 THOMAS FULLER 



from the Castle entered the steerage of ing them to smart, being beaten black and 
the ship, took away the stool from under blue by the English, he learned to arm 
him as he sat at supper, wounded Sir them at last, fortifying the most impor- 
Nicholas Clifford, and Brute Brown to tant of them to make them impregnable, 
death. ' Ah, dear Brute ! ' said Drake, 5 Now began Sir Francis's discontent to 
' I could grieve for thee, but now is no feed upon him. He conceived, that ex- 
time for me to let down my spirits.' pectation, a merciless usurer, computing 
And, indeed, a soldier's most proper be- each day since his departure, exacted an 
moaning a friend's death in war, is in interest and return of honor and profit 
revenging it. And. sure, as if grief had lo proportionable to his great preparations, 
made the English furious, they soon after and transcending his former achieye- 
fired five Spanish ships of two hundred ments. He saw that all the good which 
tons apiece, in despite of the Castle. he had done in this voyage, consisted in 

America is not unfitly resembled to an the evil he had done to the Spaniards 
hourglass, which hath a narrow neck 15 afar off, whereof he could present but 
of land (suppose it the hole where the small visible fruits in England. _ These 
sand passeth), betwixt the parts thereof, apprehensions, accompanying, if not 
— Mexicana and Peruana. Now, the causing, the disease of the flux, wrought 
English had a design to march by land his sudden death, January 28th, _i595- 
over this Isthmus, from Porto Rico to 20 And sickness did not so much untie his 
Panama, where the Spanish treasure was clothes, as sorrow did rend at once the 
laid up. Sir Thomas Baskerville, gen- robe of his mortality asunder. He lived 
eral of the land-forces, undertook the by the sea, died on it, and was buried in 
service with seven hundred and fifty it. Thus an extempore performance 
armed men. They marched through deep 25 (scarce heard to be begun before we 
ways, the Spaniards much annoying them hear it is ended!) comes off with better 
with .shot out of the woods. One fort applause, or miscarries with less dis- 
in the passage they assaulted in vain, grace, then a long-studied and openly- 
and heard two others were built to stop premeditated action. Besides, we see 
them, besides Panama itself. They had 30 how great spirits, having mounted to the 
so much of this breakfast they thought highest pitch of performance, after\vards 
they should surfeit of a dinner and sup- strain and break their credits in striving 
per of the same. No hope of conquest, to go beyond it. Lastly, God oftentimes 
except with cloying the jaws of death, leaves the brightest men in an eclipse, to 
and thrusting men on the mouth of the 35 show that they do but borrow their 
cannon. Wherefore, fearing to find the luster from his reflexion. We will not 
proverb true, that ' gold may be bought justify all the actions of any man, 
too dear,' they returned to their ships, though of a tamer profession than a sea- 
Drake afterwards fired Nombre de Dios, captain, in whom civility is often counted 
and many other petty towns (whose 4° preciseness. For the main, we say that 
treasure the Spaniards had conveyed this our captain was a religious man 
away), burning the empty casks, when towards God and his houses (generally 
their precious liquor was run out before, sparing churches where he came), chaste 
and then prepared . for their returning in his life, just in his dealings, true of 
home. 45 his word, and merciful to those that were 

Great was the difference betwixt the under him, hating nothing so much as 
Indian cities now, from what they were idleness: and therefore, lest his soul 
when Drake first haunted these coasts, should rust in peace, at spare hours he 
At first, the Spaniards here were safe and brought fresh water to Plymouth. Care- 
secure, counting their treasure sufficient 50 ful he was for posterity (though men 
to defend itself, the remoteness thereof of his profession have as well an ebb of 
being the greatest (almost only) resist- riot, as a float of fortune) and 'prov- 
ance, and the fetching of it more than idently raised a worshipful family of his 
the fighting for it. Whilst the king of kindred. In a word: should those that 
Spain guarded the . head and heart of 55 speak against him fast till they fetch their 
his dominions in Europe, he left his long bread where he did his, they would have 
legs in America open to blows; till, find- a good stomach to eat it. 



JEREM^ TAYLOR (1613-1667) i- 



/ 



Mr. Saintsbury, whose praise of Browne's prose style is quoted on page 200, says in another 
place that 'on. the whole no one in English prose has so much command of the enchanter's wand 
as Jeremy Taylor ' ; and critical authority is, indeed, much divided as to the stylistic excellences 
of the two writers. Taylor's inferiority is more in thought than in expression, and he has 
the disadvantage of writing from the point of view of the theologian or cleric : Browne is a 
layman and has a touch of modern scepticism. Taylor was the son of a barber, spent many 
years at Cambridge and Oxford, became a clergyman and lost his rectory under the Common- 
wealth. He retired to Wales, and there composed The Liierty of Prophesying, a plea for tol- 
eration against Presbyterian bigotry (1647), Holy Living (1G50), Holy Dying (1651), A 
Course of Sermons for all the Sundays of the Year (1651), and The Golden Grove, a manual 
of private devotion for young people (1655). 



THE FAITH AND PATIENCE OF they never serve God, that ' dwell in the 
THE SAINTS city of rejoicing?' They are Hke Dives, 

whose portion was in this hfe, ' who went 

(from a sermon preached at golden in fine linen, and fared deliciously every 

grove) 5 day:' they, indeed, trample upon their 

briers and thorns, and suffer them not to 
The state of the Gospel is a state of grow in their houses; but the roots are 
sufferings, not of temporal prosperities, in the ground, and they are reserved for 
This was foretold by the prophets : ' A fuel of wrath in the day of everlasting 
fountain shall go out of the house of the 10 burning. Thus, you see, it was prophe- 
Lord et irrigabit torrent em spinarum (so sied, now see how it was performed; 
it is in the Vulgar Latin), and it shall Christ was the captain of our sufferings, 
water the torrent of thorns,' that is, the and he began. 

state or time of the Gospel, which, like a He entered into the world with all the 
torrent, shall carry all the world before it, 15 circumstances of poverty. He had a star 
and, like a torrent, shall be fullest in ill to illustrate his birth; but a stable for 
weather; and by its banks shall grow his bedchamber, and a manger for his 
nothing but thorns and briers, sharp af- cradle. The angels sang hymns when he 
flictions, temporal infelicities, and perse- was born; but he was cold and cried, 
cution. This sense of the words is more 20 uneasy and unprovided. He lived long 
fully explained in the book of the prophet in the trade of a carpenter ; he, by whom 
Isaiah. ' Upon the ground of my people God made the world, had in his first 
shall thorns and briers come up; how years the business of a mean and ignoble 
much more in all the houses of the city trade. He did good wherever he went; 
of rejoicing?' Which prophecy is the 25 and almost wherever he went, was 
same in the style of the prophets, that my abused. He deserved heaven for his 
text is in the style of the Apostles. The obedience, but found a cross in his way 
house of God shall be watered with the thither: and if ever any man had reason 
dew of heaven, and there shall spring 3° to expect fair usages from God, and to 
up briers in it : ' Judgment^ must begin be dandled in the lap of ease, softness, 
there ; ' but how much more ' in the houses and a prosperous fortune, he it was only 
of the city of rejoicing?' how much more that could deserve that, or anything that 
amongst ' them that are at ease in Sion,' can be good. But after he had chosen to 
that serve their desires, that satisfy their 35 live a life of virtue, of poverty, and la- 
appetites, that are given over to their own bor, he entered into a state of death ; 
heart's lust, that so serve themselves that whose shame and trouble was great 

2ai 



222 JEREMY TAYLOR 



enough to pay for the sins of the whole and assaulted by the devil in the wilder- 
world. And I shall choose to express ness. His transfiguration was a bright 
this mystery in the words of Scripture, ray of glory; but then also he entered 
He died not by a single or a sudden into a cloud, and was told a sad story 
death, but he was the 'Lamb slain from 5 what he was to suffer at Jerusalem, 
the beginning of the world : ' for he was And upon Palm Sunday, when he rode 
massacred in Abel, saith St. Paulinus; triumphantly into Jerusalem, and was 
he was tossed upon the waves of the adorned with the acclamations of a king 
sea in the person of Noah; it was he and a god, he wet the palms with his 
that went out of his country, when 10 tears, sweeter than the drops of manna, 
Abraham was called from Charran, and or the little pearls of heaven that de- 
wandered from his native soil; he was scended upon Mount Hermon; weeping, 
offered up in Isaac, persecuted in Jacob, in the midst of this triumph, over obsti- 
betrayed in Joseph, blinded in Samson, nate, perishing, and malicious Jerusalem, 
affronted in Moses, sawed in Isaiah, 15 For this Jesus was like the rainbow, 
cast into the dungeon with Jeremiah: which God set in the clouds as a 
for all these were types of Christ suffer- sacrament to confirm a promise and es- 
ing. And then his passion continued tablish a grace; he was half made of 
even after his resurrection. For it is the glories of the light, and half of the 
he that suffers in all his members ; it is he 20 moisture of a cloud ; in his best days ht, 
that ' endures the contradiction of all was but half triumph and half sorrow : 
sinners'; it is he that is 'the lord of he was sent to tell of his Father's mer- 
life,' and is ' crucified again, and put to cies, and that God intended to spare us ; 
open shame ' in all the sufferings of his but appeared not but in the company 
servants, and sins of rebels, and defi- ^5 or in the retinue of a shower and of foul 
ances of apostates and renegadoes, and weather. But I need not tell that 
violence of tyrants, and injustice of Jesus, beloved of God, was a suffering 
usurpers, and the persecutions of his person : that which concerns this question 
church. It is he that is stoned in St. most is that he made for us a covenant 
Stephen, flayed in the person of St. 3° of sufferings : his doctrines were such 
Bartholomew ; he was roasted upon St. as expressly, and by consequent, enjoin 
Laurence's gridiron, exposed to lions in and suppose sufferings and a .state of 
St. Ignatius, burnt in St. Polycarp, affliction; his very promises were suffer- 
f rozen in the lake where stood forty ings ; his beatitudes were sufferings ; his 
martyrs of Cappadocia. ' Unigenitus2>% rewards and his arguments to invite men 
etiim Dei ad peragendum mortis suae sac- to follow him were only taken from suf- 
ramentum consummavit omne genus hu- ferings in this life and the reward of 
manarum passionuni' said St. Hilary; sufferings hereafter. 

' the sacrament of Christ's death is not to For if we sum up the commandments 

be accomplished but by suffering all the 40 of Christ, we shall find humility, mor- 
sorrows of humanity.' tification, self-denial, repentance, re- 

All that Christ came for was, or was nouncing the world, mourning, taking up 
mingled with, sufferings; for all those the cross, dying for him, patience and 
little joys which God sent, either to re- poverty, to stand in the chiefest rank 
create his person, or to illustrate his 45 of christian precepts, and in the direct 
office, were abated or attended with af- order to heaven : ' He that will be my 
flictions, God being more careful to es- disciple, must deny himself, and take up 
tablish in him the covenant of sufferings his cross and follow me.' We must 
than to refresh his sorrows. Presently follow him that was crowned with thorns 
after the angels had finished their hallelu-5o and sorrows, him that was drenched in 
jahs, he was forced to fly to save his Cedron, nailed upon the cross, that de- 
life ; and the air became full of shrieks served all good, and suffered all evil : 
o-*^ the desolate mothers of Bethlehem that is the sum of christian religion, as 
fcr their dying babes. God had no it distinguishes from all the religions in 
sooner made him illustrious with a voice 55 the world. To which we may add the 
from heaven and the descent of the Holy express precept recorded by St. James; 
Ghost upon him in the waters of baptism, ' Be afflicted, and mourn, and weep ; let 
but he was delivered 'over to be tempted your laughter be turned into mourning, 



THE PATIENCE OF THE SAINTS 223 

and your joy into M^eeping.' You see consequents. ' At que hoc est esse Chris- 
the commandments: will you also see the tiammi' [And this is to be a christian], 
promises ? These they are. ' In the Since this was done in the green tree, 

world ye shall have tribulation ; in me, what might we expect should be done 
ye shall have peace: — Through many sin the dry? Let us, in the next ' place, 
tribulations ye shall enter into heaven: consider how God hath treated his saints 
— He that loseth father and mother, and servants in the descending ages of 
wives and children, houses and lands, the Gospel: that if the best of God's 
for my name's sake and the Gospel, shall servants were followers of Jesus in this 
receive a hundred fold in this life, with 10 covenant of sufferings, we may not think 
persecution : ' that is part of his reward : it strange concerning the fiery trial, as 
and, ' He chastiseth every son that he if some new thing had happened to us. 
receiveth; — if ye be exempt from suf- For as the Gospel was founded in suffer- 
ferings, ye are bastards, and not sons.' ings, we shall also see it grow in persecu- 
These are some of Christ's promises: will 15 tions; and as Christ's blood did cement 
you see some of Christ's blessings that he the corner-stones and the first founda- 
gives his church ? ' Blessed are the poor : tion ; so the blood and sweat, the groans 
blessed are the hungry and thirsty: and sighings, the afflictions and mortifica- 
blessed are they that mourn: blessed are tions,,< of saints and marytrs, did make 
the humble : blessed are the persecuted.' 20 the superstructures, and must at last 
Of the eight beatitudes, five of them have finish the building. 

temporal misery and meanness, or an If we begin with the apostles, who 

afflicted condition for their subject. Will were to persuade the world to become 
you at last see some of the rewards christian, and to use proper arguments 
which Christ hath propounded to his 25 of invitations, we shall find that they 
servants, to invite them to follow him? never offered an argument of temporal 
' When I am lifted up, will draw all prosperity ; they never promised empires 
men after me: ' when Christ is ' lifted up, and thrones on earth, nor riches, nor 
as Moses lift up the serpent in the wilder- temporal power : and it would have been 
ness,' that is, lifted upon the cross, then 30 soon confuted, if they who were whipped 
* he will draw us fter him.' ' To you and imprisoned, banished and scattered, 
it is given for Christ,' saith St. Paul, persecuted and tormented, should have 
wlien he went to sweeten and flatter the promised sunshine days to others which 
Philippians: well, what is given to them? they could not to themselves. Of all the 
some ■ great favors, surely ; true ; 'It is 35 apostles there was not one that died a 
not only given you that you beheve in natural death but only St. John; and did 
Christ,' though that be a great matter, he escape ? Yes : but he was put into 
'but also that you suffer for him,' that a cauldron of scalding lead and oil be- 
is the highest of your honor. And there- fore the Porta Latina in Rome, and 
fore, saith St. James, ' My brethren, 40 escaped death by miracle, though no 
count it all joy when ye enter into divers miracle was wrought to make him escape 
temptations:' and St. Peter; ' Communi- the torture. And, besides this, he lived 
eating with the sufferings of Christ, re- long in banishment, and that was worse 
joice.' And St. James again : ' We count than St. Peter's chains. ' Sanctus Petrus 
them blessed that have suffered : ' and St. 45 in vinciilis, et Johannes ante Portam 
Paul, when he gives his blessing to the Latinam' [Saint Peter in chains, and 
Thessalonians, useth this form of prayer; John before the Latin Gate], were both 
' Our Lord direct your hearts in the days of martyrdom, and church-festivals, 
charity of God, and in the patience and And after a long and laborious life, and 
sufferings of Christ.' So that if we will 50 the affliction of 'being detained from his 
serve the king of sufferings, whose crown crown, and his sorrows for the death of 
was of thorns, whose scepter was a reed his fellow-disciples, he died full of days 
of scorn, whose imperial robe was a and sufferings. And when St. Paul was 
scarlet of mockery, whose throne was taken into the apostolate, his commis- 
the cross, we must serve him in suffer- 55 sions were signed in these words: 'I will 
ings, in poverty of spirit, in humility and shew unto him how great things he must 
mortification ; and for our reward we suffer for my name : ' And his whole 
shall have persecution, and all its blessed life was a continual suffering. ' Quotidie 



2S24 JEREMY TAYLOR 



morior' was his motto, 'I die daily;' giving to him an entire power of dis- 
and his lesson that he daily learned was, posing the great change of the world, 
to ' know Christ Jesus, and him cruci- so as might best increase their greatness 
fied;' and all his joy was 'to rejoice in and power; and he therefore did it, be- 
the cross of Christ ; ' and the changes of 5 cause all the power of the Roman great- 
his life were nothing but the changes of ness was a professed enemy to chris- 
his sufferings and the variety of his tianity. And on the other side, God was 
labors. For though Christ hath finished to build up Jerusalem, and the kingdom 
his own sufferings for expiation of the of the Gospel; and he chose to build it 
world ; yet there are vareprjfjiaTa Okiiptwy, lo of hewn stone, cut and broken ; the 
' portions that are behind of the suf- apostles he chose for preachers, and they 
ferings ' of Christ, which must be filled had no learning; women and mean people 
up by his body, the church; and happy were the first disciples, and they had no 
are they that put in the greatest sym- power; the devil was to lose his king- 
bol : for ' in the same measure you are 15 dom, and he wanted no malice : and 
partakers of the sufferings of Christ, in therefore he stirred up, and, as well as 
the same shall ye be also of the consola- he could, he made active all the power 
tion.' And therefore, concerning St. of Rome, and all the learning of the 
Paul, as it was also concerning Christ, Greeks, and all the malice of barbarous 
there is nothing or but very little in 20 people, and all the prejudice and the 
Scripture relating to his person and obstinacy of the Jews, against this doc- 
chances of his private life, but his labors trine and institution, which preached, and 
and persecutions; as if the Holy Ghost promised, and brought, persecution along 
did think nothing fit to stand upon record with it. On the one side, there was 
for Christ but sufferings. 25 ' scandalum crucis' [the offence of the 

And now began to work the greatest cross] ; on the other, ' patientia sane- 
glory of the divine providence; here was torum' [the patience of the saints], 
the case of Christianity at stake. The and what was the event? They that had 
world was rich and prosperous, learned overcome the world, could not strangle 
and full of wise men ; the Gospel was 30 Christianity. But so have I seen the 
preached with poverty and persecution, sun with a little ray of distant light 
in simplicity of discourse, and in demon- challenge all the power of darkness, and 
stration of the Spirit: God was on one without violence and noise, climbing up 
side, and the devil on the other; they the hill, hath made night so to retire, 
each of them dressed up their city; 35 that its memory was lost in the joys and 
Babylon upon earth, Jerusalem from spritefulness of the morning: and chris- 
above. The devil's city was full of tianity without violence or armies, with- 
pleasure, triumphs, victories, and cruelty; out resistance and self-preservation, 
good nevv^s, and great wealth ; conquest without strength or human eloquence, 
over kings, and making nations tributary : 40 without challenging of privileges or fight- 
they * bound kings in chains, and the ing against tyranny, without alteration of 
nobles with links of iron ; ' and the in- government and scandal of princes, with 
heritance of the earth was theirs : the its humility and meekness, with tolera- 
Romans were lords over the greatest tion and patience, with obedience and 
part of the world ; and God permitted to 45 charity, with praying and dying, did 
the devil the firmament and increase, the insensibly turn the vrorld into christian, 
wars and the success of that people, and persecution into victory. 




JOHN BUNYAN (1628-1688) 

The greatest of English allegorical writers was a Bedfordshire tinker. * I never went to 
school to Aristotle or Plato, but was brought up at my father's house in a very mean condi- 
tion, among a company of poor countrymen,' he tells us in his autobiography, Grace ahounding 
to the Chief of Sinners (IGGG). As a matter of fact, he was not a conspicuously bad char- 
acter, the worst faults of which he can accuse himself being fondness for dancing, bell-ringing, 
and other sports and pastimes, and a habit of profanity, for which he acquired a local reputa- 
tion. All this was changed, however, by his marriage, about the age of twenty, to a godly 
wife, who brought about his conversion. He became famous as a preacher, to the great dis- 
pleasure of the regular clergy, who were ' angry with the tinker because he strove to mend 
souls as well as kettles and pans.' After the Restoration, when the old laws against dissenters 
were revived, he was arrested for holding religious services, and remained in prison for the 
next twelve years; he made laces for the support of his family, preached to his fellow-prisoners, 
studied the Bible and Foxe's Book of Martyrs, and wrote a large number of religious tracts. 
It was apparently during a later imprisonment that he wrote The Pilgrim's Progress, the first 
part of which was published in 1678 and became immediately popular. After two other 
allegorical stories — • from one point of view religious tracts, from another, novels — The Life 
and Death of Mr. Badman and The Holy War — he wrote the second part of Pilgrim's Progress 
(3684), completing the pilgrimage of Christian, his wife Christiana, and their children. In 
his later years he was active as a nonconformist minister (his congregation met in a barn 
at Bedford) and he was known in the surrounding country as 'Bishop Bunyan'; his fame 
as a preacher spread to London, where he drew great crowds together on his occasional visits, 
and attracted the attention of royalty; but it is only in recent years that Bunyan's literary 
merits have been fully appreciated — his power of imagination and realistic description, and 
the forthright directness of his style. 



From THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS very surprising to him, that the sight of 

the cross should thus ease him of his 

Now I saw in my dream, that the high- burden. He looked, therefore, and looked 
way up which Christian was to go, was again, even till the springs that were in 
fenced on either side with a wall, and that 5 his head sent the waters down his 
wall was called Salvation.^ Up this way, cheeks.^ Now, as he stood looking and 
therefore, did burdened Christian run, but weeping, behold three Shining Ones came 
not without great difficulty, because of the to him and saluted him with ' Peace be 
load on his back. to thee.' So the first said to him, * Thy 

He ran thus till he came at a place 10 sins be forgiven thee ! ' ^ the second 
somewhat ascending, and upon that place stripped him of his rags, and clothed him 
stood a ^cross, and a little below, in the ' with change of raiment ; ' * the third 
bottom, a sepulcher. So I saw in my also set a mark in his forehead, and gave 
dream, that just as Christian came up him a roll with a seal upon it, which he 
with the cross, his burden loosed from 15 bade him look on as he ran, and that he 
off his shoulders, and fell from off his should give it in at the Celestial Gate.^ 
back, and began to tumble, and so con- So they went their way. Then Christian 
tinned to do, till it came to the mouth gave three leaps for joy, and went on 
of the sepulcher, where it fell in, and I singing: — 
saw it no more. 20 

Then was Christian glad and light- Thus far I did come laden with my sin; 
some, and said, with a merry heart, ' He Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in 
hath given me rest by his sorrow, and 
life by his death.' Then he stood still =Zec. xii. 10. 
awhile to look and wonder; for it was 25 ^^^''•.ll- s- 

' * Zee. ui. 4. 

'Zee xii. iQ. 5 Ep_ {_ j^. 



226 JOHN BUNYAN 



Till I came hither : What a place is this ! Chr. Why came you not in at the gate, 

Must here be the beginning of my bliss? which standeth at the beginning of the 
Must here the burden fall from off my way? Know you not that it is written, 

back? that he that cometh not in by the door, 

Must here the strings that bound it to me 5 ' but climbeth up some other way, the 

crack? same is a thief and a robber? ' ^ 

Blest cross! blest sepulcher! blest rather be Form, and Hyp. "^hey said. That to go 

The man that there was put to shame for to the gate for entrance was, by all their 

me! countrymen, counted too far about; and 

10 that, therefore, their usual way was to 

1 saw then in my dream, that he went make a short cut of it, and to climb over 
on thus, even until he came at a bottom, the wall, as they had done. 

where he saw, a little out of the way, Chr. But will it not be counted a tres- 

three men fast asleep, with fetters upon pass against the Lord of the city whither 
their heels. The name of the one was 15 we are bound, thus to violate his re- 
Simple, another Sloth, and the third Pre- vealed will? 
sumption. Form, and Hyp. They told him, that. 

Christian then seeing them lie in this as for that, he needed not to trouble his 
case, went to them, if peradventure he head thereabout; for what they did, they 
might awake them, and cried, You are 20 had custom for ; and could produce, if 
like them that sleep on the top of a mast, need were, testimony that would witness 
for the Dead Sea is under you — a gulf it for more than a thousand years, 
that hath no bottom.^ Awake, therefore, Chr. But, said Christian, will your 

and come away; be willing also, and I practice stand a trial at law? 
will help you off with your irons. He 25 Form, and Hyp. They told him. That 
also told them, If he that ' goeth about custom, it being of so long a standing 
like a roaring Hon ' comes by, you will as above a thousand years, would doubt- 
certainly become a prey to his teeth.^ less, now be admitted as a thing legal by 
With that they looked upon him, and any impartial judge; and besides, said 
began to reply in this sort : Simple 30 they, if we get into the way, what 's 
said, *I see no danger;' Sloth said, matter which way we get in? if we are 
' Yet a httle more sleep ; ' and Fresump- in, we are in ; thou art but in the way, 
tion said, ' Every fat must stand upon its who, as we perceived, came in at the 
own bottom.' And so they lay down to gate; and we are also in the wav, that 
sleep again, and Christian went on his 35 came tumbling over the wall ; wherein, 
way. now, is thy condition better than ours? 

Yet was he troubled to think that Chr. I walk by the rule of my Master; 
men in that danger should so little you walk by the rude working of your 
esteem the kindness of him that so freely fancies. You are counted thieves al- 
offered to help them, both by awakening 40 ready, by the Lord of the way; therefore, 
of them, counseling of them, and proffer- I doubt you will not be found true men at 
ing to help them off with their irons, the end of the way. You come in by 
And as he was troubled thereabout he yourselves, without his direction; and 
espied two men come tumbling ov6r the shall go out by yourselves, without his 
wall, on the left hand of the narrow way ; 45 mercy. 

and they made up apace to him. The To this they made him but little an^ 
name of the one was Formalist, and the swer; only they bid him look to himself, 
name of the other Hypocrisy. So, as I Then I saw that they went on every man 
said, they drew up unto him, who thus in his way, without much conference one 
entered with them into discourse. 5° with another ; save that these two men 

Chr. Gentlemen, whence came you, told Christian, that as to laws and 
and whither go you? ordinances, they doubted not but they 

Form, and Hyp. We were born in the should as conscientiously do them as he; 
land of Vain-glory, and are going for therefore, said they, we see not wherein 
praise to Mount Zion. 55 thou differest from us, but by the coat 

that is on thy back, which was, as we 

* Pr. xxiii. 34. 

2 Pe. V. 8. » Jn. X. i. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 227 

trow, given thee by some of thy neigh- The hill, though high, I covet to ascend, 

bors, to hide the shame of thy naked- The difficulty will not me offend ; 

ness. For I perceive the way to life lies here. 

Chr. By laws and ordinances you will Come, pluck up heart, let 's neither faint 
not be saved, since you came not in by 5 nor fear ; 

the door.^ And as for this coat that is Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 
on my back, it was given me by the Lord Than wrong, though easy, where the end 
of the place whither I go ; and that, as is woe. 

you say, to cover my nakedness with. 

And I take it as a token of his kindness 10 The other two also came- to the foot 
to me; for I had nothing but rags be- of the hill; but when they saw that the 
fore. And, besides, thus I comfort my- hill was steep and high, and that there 
self as I go : Surely, think I, when I were two other ways to go ; and suppos- 
come to the gate of the city, the Lord ing also that these two ways might meet 
thereof will know me for good, since I 15 again, with that up which Christian 
have his coat on my back — a coat that went, on the other side of the hill ; there- 
he gave me freely in the day that he fore they were resolved to go in those 
stripped me of my rags. I have, more- ways. Now the name of one of those 
over, a mark in my forehead, of which, ways was Danger, and the name of the 
perhaps, you have taken no notice, which 20 other Destruction. So the one took the 
one of my Lord's most intimate associates way which is called Danger, which led 
fixed there in the day that my burden him into a great wood, and the other took 
fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, directly up the way to Destruction, which 
moreover, that I had then given me a led him into a wide field, full of dark 
roll, sealed, to comfort me by reading, as 25 mountains, where he stumbled and fell, 
I go on the way; I was also bid to give and rose no more. 

it in at the Celestial Gate, in token of my I looked, then, after Christian, to see 

certain going in after it ; all which things, him go up the hill, where I perceived 
I doubt, you want, and want them be- he fell from running to going, and from 
cause you came not in at the gate. 30 going to clambering upon his hands and 

To these things they gave him no his knees, because of the steepness of the 
answer; only they looked upon each place. Now, about the midway to the 
other, and laughed. Then I saw that top of the hill was a pleasant arbor, 
they went on all, save that Christian made by the Lord of the hill for the re- 
kept before, who had no more talk but 35 freshing of weary travelers ; thither, 
with himself, and that sometimes sigh- therefore. Christian got, where also he 
ingly and sometimes comfortably ; also sat down to rest him. Then he pulled 
he would be often reading in the roll his roll out of his bosom, and read 
that one of the Shining Ones gave him, therein to his comfort; he also now be- 
by which he was refreshed. 4° gan afresh to take a review of the coat 

I beheld, then, that they all went on or garment that was given him as he 
till they came to the foot of the Hill stood by the cross. Thus pleasing him- 
Difficulty; at the bottom of which was a self awhile, he at last fell nto a slumber, 
spring. There were . also in the same and thence into a fast sleep, which de- 
place two other ways besides that which 45 tained him in that place until it was 
came straight from the gate; one turned almost night; and in his sleep his roll 
to the left hand, and the other to the fell out of his hand. Now, as he was 
right, at the bottom of the hill; but the sleeping, there came one to him, and 
narrow way lay right up the hill, and awaked him, saying, ' Go to the ant, thou 
the name of the going up the side of the 50 sluggard ; consider her ways, and be 
hill is called Difficulty. Christian now wise.' ^ And with that Christian sud- 
went to the spring, and drank thereof, denly started up, and sped him on his 
to refresh himself,^ and then began to go way, and went apace, till he came to the 
up the hill, saying — top of the hill. 

55 Now, when he was got up to the top 

' Ga. ii. 16. 

2 Is. XliX. 10. SP^_ yj_ g^ 



228 JOHN BUNYAN 



of the hill, there came two men running slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow 
to meet him amain; the name of the one the more, by bringing again, even afresh, 
was Timorous, and of the other Mistrust; his evil of sleeping into his mind.^ 
to whom Christian said. Sirs, what's the Thus, therefore, he now went on bewail- 
matter ? You run the wrong way. 5 ing his sinful sleep, saying, ' O wretched 
Timorous answered, that they were going man that I am ! ' that I should sleep in 
to the City of Zion, and had got up that the day-time ! that I should sleep in the 
difficult place ; but, said he, the further midst of difficulty ! that I should so in- 
we go, the more danger we meet with ; dulge the flesh, as to use that rest for 
wherefore we turned, and are going back lo ease to my flesh, which the Lord of the 
again. hill hath erected only for the relief of 

Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us the spirits of pilgrims ! 
lie a couple of lions in the way, whether How many steps have I took in vain ! 

sleeping or waking we know not, and we Thus it happened to Israel, for their sin; 
could not think, if we came within reach, 15 they were sent back again by the way of 
but they would presently pull us in pieces, the Red Sea; and I am made to tread 

Chr. Then said Christian, You make those steps with sorrow, which I might 
me afraid, but whither shall T fly to be have trod with delight, had it not been 
safe? If I go back to mine own country, for this sinful sleep. How far might I 
that is prepared for fire and brimstone, 20 have been on my way by this time ! I 
and I shall certainly perish there. If I am made to tread those steps thrice over, 
can get to the Celestial City, I am sure which I needed not to have trod but 
to be in safety there. I must venture, once ; yea, now also I am like to be be- 
To go back is nothing but death; to go nighted, for the day is almost spent. O 
forward is fear of death, and life ever- 25 that I had not slept ! 
lasting beyond it. I will yet go forward. Now by this time he was come to the 

So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the arbor again, where for a while he sat 
hill, and Christian went on his way. down and wept; but at last, as Christian 
But, thinking again of what he heard would have it, looking sorrowfully down 
from the men, he felt in his bosom for 30 under the settle, there he espied his roll ; 
his roll, that he might read therein, and the which he, with trembling and haste, 
be comforted; but he felt, and found it catched up, and put ii into his bosom, 
not. Then was Christian in great dis- But who can tell how joyful this man 
tress, and knew not what to do ; for he was when he had gotten his roll again ! 
wanted that which used to relieve him, 35 for this roll was the assurance of his 
and that which should have been his life and acceptance at the desired haven, 
pass into the Celestial City. Here there- Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave 
fore, he began to be much perplexed, and thanks to God for directing his eye to 
knew not what to do. At last, he be- the place where it lay, and with joy 
thought himself, that he had slept in the 40 and tears betook himself again to his 
arbor that is on the side of the hill; and, journey. But oh, how nimbly now did 
falling down upon his knees, he asked he go up the rest of the hill ! Yet, be- 
God forgiveness for that his foolish fact, fore he got up, the sun went down upon 
and then went back to look for his roll. Christian; and this made him again re- 
But all the way he went back, who can 45 call the vanity of his sleeping to his 
sufficiently set forth the sorrow of remembrance; and thus he again began 
Christian's heart! Sometimes he sighed, to condole with himself. O thou sinful 
sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he sleep ! how, for thy sake am I like to be 
chid himself for being so foolish to fall benighted in my journey! I must walk 
asleep in that place, which was erected 50 without the sun ; darkness must cover the 
only for a little refreshment for his path of my feet; and I must hear the 
weariness. Thus, therefore, he v/ent noise of the doleful creatures, because 
back, carefully looking on this side, and of my sinful sleep.^ Now also he re* 
on that, all the way as he went, if happily membered the story that Mistrust and 
he might find his roll, that had been his 55 Timorous told him of, how they wer*? 
comfort so many times in his journey. 

He went thus, till he came again within 1 Re. ii. 5. i Th. v. 7, 8. 
sight of the arbor where he sat and ' 1 Th. v. 6, 7. 



THE PILGRIM'S Jr^ROGRESS 229 

frighted with the sight of the Hons. Por. What is your name? 

Then said Christian to himself again, Chr. My name is now Christian, but 

These beasts range in the night for their my name at the first was Graceless; I 

prey; and if they should meet with me came of the race of Japheth, whom God 

in the dark, how should I shift them? Swill persuade to dwell in the tents of 

How should I escape being by them torn Shem.- 

in pieces? Thus he went on his way. Por. But how doth it happen that you 

But while he was thus bewailing his un- come so late? The sun is set. 

happy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, 

and behold there was a very stately 10 * wretched man that I am ! ' I slept in 

palace before him, the name of which the arbor that stands on the hill-side; 

was Beautiful; and it stood just by the nay, I had, notwithstanding that, been 

highway side. here much sooner, but that, in my sleep, 

So I saw in my dream, that he made I lost my evidence, and came without it 
haste and went forward, that if possible 15 to the brow of the hill ; and then feeling 
he might get lodging there. Now be- for it, and finding it not, I was forced, 
fore he had gone far, he entered into a with sorrow of heart, to go back to the 
very narrow passage, which was about place where I slept my sleep, where I 
a furlong off of the porter's lodge ; and found it, and now I am come, 
looking very narrowly before him as he 20 Por. Well, I will call out one of the 
went, he espied two lions in the way. virgins of this place, who will, if she 
Now, thought he, I see the dangers that likes your talk, bring you in to the rest 
Mistrust and Timorous were driven back of the family, according to the rules of 
by. (The lions were chained, but he the house. So Watchful, the porter, 
saw_ not the chains.) Then he was 25 rang a bell, at the sound of which came 
afraid, and thought also himself to go out at the door of the house, a grave and 
back after them, for he thought nothing beautiful damsel, named Discretion, and 
but death was before him. But the asked why she was called, 
porter at the _ lodge, whose name is The porter answered, This man is in 

Watchful, perceiving that Christian made 3° a journey from the City of Destruction 
a halt as if he would go back, cried to Mount Zion, but being weary and be- 
unto him, saying. Is thy strength so nighted, he asked me if he might lodge 
small ? ^ Fear not the lions, for they here to-night ; so I told him I would call 
are chained, and are placed there for for thee, who, after discourse had with 
trial of faith where it is, and for dis- 35 him, mayest do as seemeth thee good, 
covery af those that have none. Keep even according to the law of the house, 
in the midst of the path, and no hurt Then she asked him whence he was, 

shall come unto thee. and whither he was going; and he told 

Then I saw that he went on, trembling her. She asked him also how he got 
for fear of the lions, but taking good 40 into the way ; and he told her. Then 
heed to the directions of the porter; he she asked him what he had seen and 
heard them roar, but they did him no met with in the way ; and he told her. 
harm. Then he clapped his hands, and And last she asked his name ; so he said, 
went on till he came and stood before It is Christian, and I have so much the 
the gate, where the porter was. Then 45 more a desire to lodge here to-night, 
said Christian to the porter. Sir, what because, by what I perceive, this place 
house is this? and may I lodge here to- was built by the Lord of the hill, for 
night? The porter answered, This house the relief and security of pilgrims. So 
was built by the Lord of the hill, and she smiled, but the water stood in her 
he built it for the relief and security of 50 eyes; and after a little pause, she said, 
pilgrims. The porter also asked whence I will call forth two or three more of 
he was, and whither he was going. the family. So she ran to the door, and 

Chr. I am come from the City of De- call out Prudence, Piety, and Charitv, 
struction, and am going to Mount Zion; who, after a little more discourse with 
but because the sun is now set, I desire, 55 him, had him in to the family; and many 
if I may, to lodge here to-night. of them meeting him at the threshold 

*Mar. xiii. 34-37. ^ Ge. ix. 2^. 



230 JOHN BUNYAN 



of the house, said, 'Come in, thou was telling of it; but yet I am glad I 
blessed of the Lord ; ' this house was heard it. 

built by the Lord of the hill, on purpose Piety. Was that all that you saw at 

to entertain such pilgrims in. Then he the house of the Interpreter? 
bowed his head, and followed them into 5 Chr. No; he took me and had me 
the house. So when he was come in and where he showed me a stately palace, 
sat down, they gave him something to and how the people were clad in gold 
drink, and consented together, that until that were in it; and how there came a 
supper was ready, some of them should venturous man and cut his way through 
have some particular discourse with lo the armed men that stood in the door to 
Christian, for the best improvement of keep him out; and how he was bid to 
time ; and they appointed Piety, and come in, and win eternal glory. Me- 
Prudence, and Charity to discourse with thought those things did ravish my 
him ; and thus they began : heart ! I would have staid at that good 

Piety. Come, good Christian, since i5 man's house a twelvemonth, but that I 
we have been so loving to you, to re- knew I had further to go. 
ceive you into our house this night, let Piety. And what saw you else in the 
us, if perhaps we may better ourselves way? 

thereby, talk with you of all things that Chr. Saw ! why, I went but a little 

have happened to you in your pilgrim- 20 further, and I saw one, as I thought in 
age. my mind, hang bleeding upon the tree; 

Chr. With a very good will, and I and the very sight of him made my burden 
am glad that you are so well disposed. fall off my back (for I groaned under a 

Piety. What moved you at first to be- very heavy burden), but then it fell 
take yourself to a pilgrim's life? ^5 down from off me. It was a strange 

Chr. I was driven out of my native thing to me, for I never saw such a 
country, by a dreadful sound that was in thing before; yea, and while I stood 
mine ears; to wit, that unavoidable de- looking up, for then I could not forbear 
struction did attend me, if I abode in looking, three Shining Ones came to me. 
that place where I was. 30 One of them testified that imy sins were 

Piety. But how did it happen that you forgiven me ; another stripped me of my 
came out of your country this way? rags, and gave me this broidered coat 

Chr. It was as God would have it; which you see; and the third set the 
for when I was under the fears of de- mark which you see in my forehead, and 
struction, I did not know whither to go; 35 gave me this sealed roll. (And with 
but by chance there came a man, even to that he plucked it out of his bosom.) 
me, as I was trembling and weeping, Piety. But you saw more than this, 
whose name is Evangelist, and he di- did you not? 

rected me to the wicket-gate, which else Chr. The things that I have told you 

I should never have found, and so set me 40 were the best, yet some other matters 
into the way that hath led me directly I saw, as, namely, I saw three men, 
to this house. Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, lie 

Piety. But did you not come by the asleep a little out of the way, as I came, 
house of the Interpreter? with irons upon their heels; but do you 

Chr. Yes, and did see such things 45 think I could awake them ? I also saw 
there, the remembrance of which will Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling 
stick by me as long as I live; especially over the wall, to go, as they pretended, 
three things, to wit, how Christ, in to Zion, but they were quickly lost, even 
despite of Satan, maintains his work of as I myself did tell them; but they would 
grace in the heart ; how the man had 50 not believe. But above all, I found it 
sinned himself quite out of hopes of hard work to get up this hill, and as hard 
God's mercy ; and also the dream of him to come by the lions' mouths ; and truly 
that thought in his sleep the day of if it had not been for the good man, the 
judgment was come. porter that stands at the gate, I do not 

Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his 55 know but that after all I might have 
dream? gone back again; but now, I thank God 

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was. I am here, and I thank you for receiving 
I thought it made my heart ache as he of me. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 231 

Then Prudence thought good to ask Then said Charity to Christian, Have 

him a few questions, and desired his an- you a family? Are you a married man? 
swer to them. Chr. I have a wife and four small 

pRUD. Do you not think sometimes of children. 
the country from whence you came? 5 Char. And why did you not bring 

Chr. Yes, but with much shame and them along with you ? 
detestation: 'truly if I had been mindful Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, 

of that country from whence I came out, Oh how willingly would I have done it! 
I might have had opportunity to have but they were all of them utterly averse 
returned ; but now I desire a better 10 to my going on pilgrimage, 
country, that is, an heavenly.' ^ Char. But you should have talked to 

Prud. Do you not yet bear away with them, and have endeavored to have shown 
you some of the things that then you them the danger of being behind, 
were conversant withal? Chr. So I did; and told them also 

Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will ; ^5 what God had shown to me of the de- 
especially my inward and carnal cogita- struction of our city ; ' but I seemed to 
tions, with which all my countrymen, as them as one that mocked,' and they be- 
well as myself, were delighted; but now lieved me not.* 

all those things are my grief; and might Char. And did you pray to God that 

I but choose mine own things, I would 20 he would bless your counsel to them ? 
choose never to think of those things Chr. Yes, and that with much affec- 

more; but when I would be doing of that tion; for you must think that my wife 
which is best, that which is worst is with and poor children were very dear unto 
me.2 me. 

Prud. Do you not find sometimes, as 25 Char. But did you tell them of your 
if those things were vanquished, which own sorrow, and fear of destruction? for 
at other times are your perplexity? I suppose that destruction was visible 

Chr. Yes, but that is but seldom; but enough to you. 
they ar.e to me golden hours, in which Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over, 

such things happen to me. 30 They might also see my fears in my 

Prud. Can you remember by what countenance, in my tears, and also in my 
means you find your annoyances at times, trembling under the apprehension of the 
as if they were vanquished? judgment that did hang over our heads; 

Chr. Yes; when I think what I saw but all was not sufficient to prevail with 
at the cross, that will do it ; and when I 35 them to come with me. 
look upon my broidered coat, that will Char. But what could they say for 
do it; also when I look into the roll that themselves, why they came not? 
I carry in my bosom, that will do it; Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of 

and when my thoughts wax warm about losing this world, and my children were 
whither I am going, that will do it. 40 given to the foolish delights of youth ; 

Prud. And what is i<^ that makes you so what by one thing, and what by an- 
so desirous to go to Mount Zion? other, they left me to wander in this 

Chr. Why, there I hope to see him manner alone, 
alive that did hang dead on the cross; Char. But did you not, with your vain 

and there I hope to be rid of all those 45 life, damp all that you by words used 
things that to this day are in me an by way of persuasion to brmg them away 
annoyance to me; there, they say, there with you? 

is no death; and there I shall dwell with Chr. Indeed, I cannot commend my 

such company as I like best.^ For, to life; for I am conscious to myself of 
tell you truth, I love him, because I was 50 many failmgs therem ; I know also, that 
by him eased of my burden; and I am a man by his conversation may soon 
weary of my inward sickness. I would overthrow, what by argument or persua- 
fain be where I shall die no more, and sion he doth labor to fasten upon others 
with the company that shall continually for their good. Yet this I can say, I was 
cry, ' Holy, holy, holy.' 5 very wary of giving them occasion, by 

. ' , ' any unseemly action, to make them 

> He. XI. IS, 16. J J ' 

^ Ro. vii. 

8 Is. XXV. 8. Re. xxi. 4. * Ge. xix. 14. 



'232 JOHN BUNYAN 



averse to going on pilgrimage. Yea, for they were beggars born, and their crig- 
this very thing, they would tell me I was inal had been the dunghill.* 
too precise, and that I denied myself of Thus they discoursed together till late 

things, for their sakes, in which they at night; and after they had committed 
saw no evil. Nay, I think I may say, 5 themselves to their Lord for protection, 
that if what they saw in me did hinder they betook themselves to rest: the Pil- 
them, it was my great tenderness in grim they laid in a large upper chamber, 
sinning against God, or of doing any whose window opened toward the sun- 
wrong to my neighbor. rising; the name of the chamber, was 

Char. Indeed Cain hated his brother, 10 Peace; where he slept till break of day, 
'because his own works were evil, and and then he awoke and sang — 
his brother's righteous;'^ and if thy 

wife and children have been offended Where am I now? Is this the love and care 
with thee for this, they thereby show Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are? 
themselves to be implacable to good, and 15 Thus to provide ! that I should be forgiven ! 
' thou hast delivered thy soul from their And dwell already the next door to heaven! 
blood.' 2 

Now I saw in my dream, that thus So, m the mornmg, they all got up ; and 

they sat talking together until supper after some more discourse, they told him 
was ready. So when they had made 20 that he should not depart till they had 
ready, they sat down to meat. Now the shown him the rarities of that place, 
table was furnished 'with fat things. And first, they had him into the study, 
and with wine that was well refined : ' where they showed him records of the 
and all their talk at the table was about greatest antiquity; in which, as I re- 
the Lord of the hill ; as, namely, about 25 member my dream, they showed him 
what he had done, and wherefore he did first the pedigree of the Lord of the hill, 
what he did, and why he had builded that he was the son of the Ancient of 
that house. And by what they said, I Days, and came by that eternal genera- 
perceived that he had been a great war- tion. Here also was more fully recorded 
rior, and had fought with and slain 30 the acts that he had done, and the names 
'him that had the power of death,' but of many hundreds that he had taken 
not without great danger to himself, into his service; and how he had placed 
which made me love him the more.^ them in such habitations, that could 

For, as they said, and as I believe neither by length of days, nor decays of 
(said Christian), he did it with the loss 35 nature, be dissolved. 

of much blood; but that which put glory Then they read to him some of the 

of grace into all he did, was, that he worthy acts that some of his servants 
did it out of pure love to his country, had done : as, how they had ' subdued 
And besides, there were some of them of kingdoms, wrought righteousness, ob- 
the household that said they had seen 4° tained promises, stopped the mouths of 
and spoke with him since he did die on lions, quenched the violence of fire, 
the cross ; and they have attested that escaped the edge of the sword, out of 
they had it from his own lips, that he is weakness were made strong, waxed val- 
such a lover of poor pilgrims, that the iant in fight, and turned to flight the 
like is not to be found from the east to 45 armies of the aliens.'^ 
the west. They then read again in another part 

They, moreover, gave an instance of of the records of the house, where it 
what they affirmed, and that was, he had was showed how willing their Lord was 
stripped himself of his glory, that he to receive into his favor any, even any, 
might do this for the poor; and that they 50 though they in time past had offered 
heard him say and affirm, 'that he would great affronts to his person and pro- 
not dwell in the mountain of Zion alone.' ceedings. Here also were several other 
They said, moreover, that he had made histories of many other famous things, 
many pilgrims princes, though by nature of all which Christian had a view; na 

55 of things both ancient and modern; to- 

' I Jn. iii. 12. 

- Eze. iii. 19. i o •• o t> 

, TT -. ^ , * I Sa. 11. 8. Ps. cxiii. 7. 

"* He. 11. 14, 15. 5 Tj ■ 

^ He. XI. 3.1. 34. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 233 

gather with prophecies and predictions They said it was Immanuel's Land ; and 
of things that have their certain ac- it is as common, said they, as this hill 
complishment, both to the dread and is, to and for all the pilgrims. And 
amazement of enemies, and the com- when thou comest there, from thence, 
fort and solace of pilgrims. 5 said they, thou mayest see to the gate 

The next day they took him and of the Celestial City, as the shepherds 
had him into the armory, where they that live there will make appear, 
showed him all manner of furniture. Now, he bethought himself of setting 

which their Lord had provided for forward, and they were willing he 
pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, 10 should. But first, said they, let us go 
breastplate, all-prayer, and shoes that again into the armory. So they did ; 
would not wear out. And there was and when he came there, they harnessed 
here enough of this to harness out as him from head to foot with what was 
many men, for the service of their Lord, of proof, lest, perhaps, he should meet 
as there be stars in the heaven for mul- 15 with assaults in the way. He being, 
titude. therefore,, thus accoutred, walketh out 

They also showed him some of the with his friends to the gate, and there 
engines with which some of his serv- he asked the porter if he saw any pil- 
ants had done wonderful things. They grims pass by. Then the porter an- 
showed him Moses' rod ; the hammer 20 swered, Yes. 

and nail with which Jael slew Sisera; Chr. Pray, did you know him? said 

the pitchers, trumpets, and lamps, too, he. 

with which Gideon put to flight the Por. I asked his name, and he told me 

armies of Midian. Then they showed it was Faithful. 

him the ox's goad wherewith Shamgar 25 Chr. Oh, said Christian, I know 
slew six hundred men. They showed him; he is my townsman, my near 
him, also, the jaw-bone with which neighbor; he comes from the place 
Samson did such mighty feats. They where I was born. How far do you 
showed him, moreover, the sling and think he may be before? 
stone with which David slew Goliah 3o PoR. He is got by this time below the 
of Gath ; and the sword, also, with hill. 

which their Lord will kill the Man of Chr. Well, said Christian, good Por- 

Sin, in the day that he shall rise up to ter, the Lord be with thee, and add 
the prey. They showed him, besides, to all thy blessings much increase, for 
many excellent things, with which 35 the kindness that thou hast showed to 
Christian was much delighted. This me. 
done, they went to their rest again. Then he began to go forward; but 

Then I saw in my dream, that, on Discretion, Piety, Charity and Prudence, 
the morrow, he got up to go forward; would accompany him down to the foot 
but they desired him to stay till the next 40 of the hill. So they went on together, 
day also; and then, said they, we will, reiterating their former discourses, till 
if the day be clear, show you the De- they came to go down the hill. Then, 
lectable Mountains, which, they said, said Christian, as it was difficult corn- 
would yet further add to his comfort, ing up, so, so far as I can see, it is 
because they were nearer the desired 45 dangerous going down. Yes, said Pru- 
haven than the place where at present dence, so it is, for it is a hard matter 
he was; so he consented and stayed. for a man to go down into the Valley 
When the morning was up, they had of Humiliation, as thou art now, and 
him to the top of the house, and bid to catch no slip by the way; therefore, 
him look south; so he did; and, behold, 5° said they, are we come out to accom- 
at a great distance, he saw a most pany thee down the hill. So he began 
pleasant mountainous country, beau- to go down, but very warily; yet he 
tified with woods, vineyards, fruits of all caught a slip or two. 
sorts, flowers also, with springs and Then I saw in my dream that these 

fountains, very delectable to behold.^ 55 good companions, when Christian was 
Then he asked the name of the country, gone to the bottom of the hill, gave him 

*is. xxxiii. 16, 17. ^ ^°^^ °^ bread, a bottle of wine, and 



234 JOHN BUNYAN 



a cluster of raisins; and then he went will afford, I do here promi'se to give 
on his way. thee. 

But now, in this Valley of Humilia- Chr. But I have let myself to an- 

tion, poor Christian was hard put to it; other, even to the King of princes; and 
for he had gone but a little way, before ^ how can I, with fairness, go back with 
he espied a foul fiend coming over the thee? 

field to meet him; his name is Apollyon. Apol. Thou hast done in this ac- 

Then did Christian begin to be afraid, cording to the proverb, ' Changed a bad 
and to cast in his mind whether to go for a worse;' but it is ordinary for those 
back or to stand his ground. But he lo that have professed themselves his serv- 
considered again that he had no armor ants, after a while to give him the slip, 
for his back; and,, therefore, thought and return again to me. Do thou so 
that to turn the back to him might give too, and all shall be well, 
him the greater advantage, with ease to Chr. I have given him my faith, and 

pierce him with his darts. Therefore i5 sworn my allegiance to him ; how, then, 
he resolved to venture and stand his ' can I go back from this, and not be 
ground; for, thought he, had I no more hanged as a traitor? 
in mine eye than the saving of my life, Apol. Thou didst the same to me, and 

it would be the best way to stand. yet I am willing to pass by all, if now 

So he went on, and Apollyon met 20 thou wilt yet turn again and go back, 
him. Now the monster was hideous to Chr. What I promised thee was in 

behold; he was clothed with scales, my nonage; and, besides, I count the 
like a fish (and they are his pride), he Prince under whose banner now I 
had wings like a dragon, feet like a stand is able to absolve me; yea, and 
bear, and out of his belly came fire and 25 to pardon also what I did as to my 
smoke, and his mouth was as the mouth compliance with thee; and besides, O 
of a lion. When he was come up to thou destroying Apollyon ! to speak 
Christian, he beheld him with a dis- truth, I like his service, his wages, his 
dainful countenance, and thus began to servants, his government, his company, 
question with him. 3° and country, better than thine; and, 

Apol. Whence come you? and whither therefore, leave off to persuade me fur- 
are you bound? ther; I am his servant, and I will fol- 

Chr. I am come from the City of low him. 
Destruction, which is the place of all Apol. Consider again, when thou art 
evil, and am going to the City of Zion. 35 in cool blood, what thou art like to meet 

Apol. By this I perceive thou art one with in the way that thou goest. Thou 
of my subjects, for all that country is knowest that, for the most part, his serv- 
mine, and I am the prince and god of ants come to an ill end, because they 
it. How is it, then, that thou hast run are transgressors against me and my 
away from thy king? Were it not that 40 ways. How many of them have been 
I hope thou mayest do me more service, put to shameful deaths ! and, besides, 
I would strike thee now, at one blow, to thou countest his service better than 
the ground. mine, whereas he never came yet from 

Chr. I was born, indeed, in your the place where he is to deliver any that 
dominions, but your service was hard, 45 served him out of their hands ; but as 
and your wages such as a man could for me, how many times, as all the 
not live on, ' for the wages of sin is world very well knows, have I delivered, 
death ; ' ^ therefore, when I was come to either by power or fraud, those that 
years, I did as other considerate per- have faithfully served me, from him and 
sons do, look out, if, perhaps, I might 50 his, though taken by them ; and so I 
mend myself. will deliver thee. 

Apol. There is no prince that will Chr. His forbearing at present to 

thus lightly lose his subjects, neither deliver them is on purpose to try their 
will I as yet lose thee; but since thou love, whether they will cleave to him 
complainest of thy service and wages, 55 to the end ; and as for the ill end thou 
be content to go back; what our country sayest they come to, that is most glo- 
rious in their account; for, for present 

1 Ro. vi. 23. deliverance, they do not much expect it. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 235 

for they stay for their glory, and then therefore, followed his work amain, and 
they shall have it, when their Prince Christian again took courage and re- 
comes in his and the glory of the angels, sisted as manfully as he could. This 

Apol. Thou hast already been un- sore combat lasted for above half a day, 
faithful in thy service to him ; and how 5 even till Christian was almost quite 
dost thou think to receive wages of him? spent; for you must know, that Chris- 

Chr. Wherein, O ApoUyon! have I tian, by reason of his wounds, must 
been unfaithful to him? needs grow weaker and weaker. ^ 

Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting Then Apollyon, espying his opportu- 

out, when thou wast almost choked in 10 nity, began to gather up close to Chris- 
the Gulf of Despond; thou didst at- tian, and wrestling with him, gave him a 
tempt wrong ways to be rid of thy bur- dreadful fall; and with that, Christian's 
den, whereas thou shouldst have stayed sword flew out of his hand. Then said 
till thy Prince had taken it off; thou Apollyon, I am sure of thee now. And 
didst sinfully sleep, and lose thy choice 15 with that he had almost pressed him to 
thing; thou wast, also, almost persuaded death; so that Christian began to 
to go back, at the sight of the lions; despair of life: but as God would have 
and when thou talkest of thy journey, it, while Apollyon was fetching of his 
and of what thou hast heard and seen, last blow, thereby to make a full end 
thou art inwardly desirous of vain- 20 of this good man. Christian nimbly 
glory in all that thou sayest or doest. reached out his hand for his sword, and 

Chr. All this is true, and much more caught it, saying, ' Rejoice not against 
which thou hast left out; but the Prince, me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall 
whom I serve and honor, is merciful, arise ; ' ^ and with that gave him a 
and ready to forgive ; but, besides, these 25 deadly thrust, which made him give 
infirmities possessed me in thy country, back, as one that had received his mor- 
for there I sucked them in; and I have tal wound. Christian perceiving that, 
groaned under them, been sorry for made at him again, saying, ' Nay, in all 
them, and have obtained pardon of my these things we are more than conquer- 
Prince. 30 ors, through him that loved us.' ^ And 

Apol. Then Apollyon broke out into with that Apollyon spread forth his 
a grievous rage, saying, I am an enemy dragon's wings, and sped him away, that 
to this Prince; I hate his person, his Christian for a season saw him no 
laws, and people; I am come out on more.^ 
purpose to withstand thee. 35 In this combat no man can imagine, 

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you unless he had seen and heard as I did, 
do; for I am in. the king's highway, the what yelling and hideous roaring ApoU- 
way of holiness; therefore take heed to yon made all the time of the fight — 
yourself. he spake like a dragon; and, on the 

Apol. Then Apollyon straddled quite 40 other side, what sighs and groans burst 
over the whole breadth of the way, and from Christian's heart. I never saw 
said, I am void of fear in this matter: him all the while give so much as one 
prepare thyself to die ; for I swear by pleasant look, till he perceived he had 
my infernal den, that thou shalt go no wounded Apollyon with his two-edged 
further; here will I spill thy soul. 45 sword ; then, indeed, he did smile and 

And with that he threw a flaming look upward; but it was the dreadfulest 
dart at his breast; but Christian had a sight that ever I saw. 
shield in his hand, with which he caught So when the battle was over, Chris- 

it, and so prevented the danger of that. tian said, ' I will here give thanks to 

Then did Christian draw; for he saw 50 him that delivered me out of the mouth 
it was time to bestir him : and Apollyon of the lion, to him - that did help me 
as fast made at him, throwing darts as against Apollyon.' And so he did. 
thick as hail; by the which, notwith- 
standing all that Christian could do to * * * 
avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his 55 1 j^j ^;; g 
head, his hand, and foot. This made 2^0" ^iu. 37. 
Christian give a little back; Apollyon, 'Ja. iv. 7. 



JOHN MILTON (1608-1674) 



» Milton belonged to a London Puritan family, and when he went up to Cambridge at the end 
of James I's reign, it was with the intention of becoming a clergyman of the Church of Eng- 
land, in which the Puritans were then a party, hoping to substitute in it government by 
presbyters, elected by church councils, for government by bishops, appointed by the king. 
Changes in the administration of the national church under Charles I as well as the develop- 
ment of JMilton's own opinions led him to abandon this purpose, towards which all his early 
training was directed. He has described his serious and studious boyhood in lines 201-7 of 
Paradise Regained, Book I. He was deeply versed not only in Greek and Latin, but also in 
Hebrew, and in French and Italian, but his early poems show no sign of the mingling of 
Christianity and paganism which is characteristic of Renaissance thought. On the other 
hand, he did not share the later Puritan intolerance of innocent amusements. Two of his 
earlier poems. Arcades (c. 1630-3) and Gomus (1634) and one of his latest, Samson Agonistcs 
(pub. 1671), were in dramatic form; in 1630 he wrote a poem in praise of Shakspere for the 
folio edition of the plays (see below), and in U Allegro he speaks appreciatively of both 
Shakspere's and Jonson's comedies (see p. 238). After seven years at Christ's College, where 
on account of his almost girlish beauty he was known as ' our fair lady of Christ's,' he 
retired for further study to Horton in Buckinghamshire, where his principal early poems were 
written (1632-7). He then traveled on the Continent to complete his education (1638-9), 
and was recalled by the political crisis preceding the outbreak of the Civil War. ' I thought 
it base,' he wrote later, ' to be traveling for amusement abroad while my fellow citizens were 
fighting for liberty at home.' Milton fought, not with the sword, but with the pen. He per- 
ceived that ' there were three species of liberty which are essential to the happiness of social 
life — religious, domestic and civil.' In 1641-2 he took an active part in the controversy that 
was raging as to the government of the Church by bishops, which appeared to him contrary 
to religious liberty. His marriage in 1643 to Mary Powell, daughter of a Cavalier and half 
his own age, turned out unhappily ; she found life with the poet and pamphleteer ' very soli- 
tary ' and too ' philosophical,' and after a month's experience of it returned to her father's 
house. This led Milton to publish a series of pamphlets in favor of divorce, and he was said 
to be contemplating a marriage with Miss Davis, the ' virtuous young lady ' of Sonnet IX 
(see p. 242) but, when this came to his wife's ears, she sought and obtained a reconciliation. 
In 1644 he wrote two important tracts — one on education, and another on the freedom of the 
press (Areopagitica) . In 1649 he took up the defence of the Commonwealth for the execution 
of Charles I, and as Latin Secretary to the Council of State continued his task with a devo- 
tion which involved the sacrifice of his eye-sight (see Sonnets, pp. 243-4). His pen was still 
active on behalf of religious toleration and republican government when the Restoration drove 
him into hiding; he was arrested, but suffered no harm beyond a short imprisonment and the 
burning of his books by the hangman. He lost, of course, his Latin secretaryship, and the 
destruction of some of his property by the fire of London brought him into straitened circum- 
stances ; but his tastes were simple, and bating ' not a jot of heart or hope ' he returned to his 
studies. He wrote a history, a logic, a Latin grammai', a compendium of theology; but the 
great works of his later years were Paradise Lost (published 1667), and Paradise Regained and 
Sainson Agonistes (1671). He chose the subject of Paradise Lost out of some hundred which 
he jotted down about 1640, and wrote a small part of it, but the great design was interrupted 
by the Civil War, resumed in 1658, and completed in 1663 or 1665. 



ON SHAKSPERE 

What needs my Shakspere for his honored 

bones 
The labor of an age in piled stones? 
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid 
Under a star-ypointing pyramid? 
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 5 



236 



What need 'st thou such weak witness of 

thy name? 
Thou in our wonder and astonishment 
Hast built thyself a livelong monument. 
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavor- 
ing art. 
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book 



L'ALLEGRO 



237 



Those Delphic lines with deep impression 
took, 12 

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving. 
Dost make us marble with too much conceiv- 
ing, 
And so sepiilchered in such pomp dost lie iS 
That kings for such a tomb would wish to 
die. 

L'ALLEGRO 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and 

sights unholy ! 
Find out some uncouth cell s 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his 

jealous wings 
And the night raven sings ; 
There, under ebon shades and low-browed 

rocks 
As ragged as thy locks. 
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 1° 

But come, thou goddess fair and free. 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth 
With two sister Graces more, is 

To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring. 
Zephyr with Aurora playing 
As he met her once a-Maying, 20 

There, on beds of violets blue 
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair. 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful jollity, ^(> 

Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek 
And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 

Sport that wrinkled Care derides, 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it, as you go 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee 35 
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; 
And, if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
To live with her, and live with thee, 
In unreproved pleasures free : — 40 

To hear the lark begin his flight, 
And, singing, startle the dull night, 
From his watch-tower in the skies. 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 



Then to come, in spite of sorrow, ' 45 

And at my window bid good-morrow, 

Through the sweet-briar, or the vine. 

Or the twisted eglantine ; 

While the cock, with lively din. 

Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 5° 

And to the stack, or the barn-door. 

Stoutly struts his dames before; 

Oft listening how the hounds and horn 

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 

From the side of some hoar hill, S 

Through the high wood echoing shrill ; 

Some time walking, not unseen. 

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green. 

Right against the eastern gate 

Where the great sun begins his state 6« 

Robed in flames and amber light, 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight; 

While the ploughman, near at hand. 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 65 

And the mower whets his scythe. 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new 
pleasures, 
Whilst the landscape round it measures : 70 
Russet lawns, and fallows gray. 
Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
Mountains on whose barren breast 
The laboring clouds do often rest; 
Meadows trim, with daisies pied, 75 

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; 
Towers and battlements it sees 
Bosomed high in tufted trees. 
Where, perhaps, some beauty lies. 
The cynosure of neighboring eyes. 80 

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
From betwixt two aged oaks. 
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, 
Are at their savory dinner set 
Of herbs, and other country messes, 8^ 

Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses; 
And then in haste her bower she leaves, 
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves. 
Or, if the earlier season lead. 
To the tanned haycock in. the mead. 90 

Sometimes, with secure delight. 
The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the merry bells ring round. 
And the jocund rebecks sound 
To many a youth and many a maid 95 

Dancing in the checkered shade. 
And young and old come forth to play 
On a sunshine holyday. 
Till the livelong daylight fail ; 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 

With stories told of many a feat; 



^38 



JOHN MILTON 



How fairy Mab the junkets eat; 

She was pinched, and pulled she said; 

And he, by friar's lantern led. 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat ^°5 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 

When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 

That ten day-laborers could not end; 

Then lies him down the lubber fiend, no 

And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 

And, crop-full, out of doors he flings, 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, "S 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then, 
And the busy hum of men. 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, i-^o 
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
Rain influence, and judge the prize 
Of wit or arms, while both contend 
To win her grace whom all commend. 
There let Hymen oft appear 125 

In saffron robe, -with taper clear. 
And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
With mask and antique pageantry; 
Such sights as youthful poets dream 
On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 
Then to the well-trod stage anon. 
If Jonson's learned sock be on. 
Or sweetest Shakspere, Fancy's child. 
Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever, against eating cares, i3S 

Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
Married to immortal verse, 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
In notes with many a winding bout 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 140 
With wanton heed and giddy cunning. 
The melting voice through mazes running, 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden sotil of harmony; 
That Orpheus' self may heave his head, i45 
From golden slumber on a bed 
Of heaped elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite set free 
His half-regained Eurydice. iSo 

These delights if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 

IL PENSEROSO 

Hence, vain deluding joys, 
The brood of Folly, without father bred! 
How little you bested. 
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! 



Dwell in some idle brain, S 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes pos- 
sess 
As thick and numberless 
As the gay motes that people the sun- 
beams, 
Or likest hovering dreams. 
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 10 
But, hail! thou goddess sage and holy. 
Hail, divinest Melancholy, 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight. 
And, therefore, to our weaker view, ^S 

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 20 

The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended;. 
Thee bright-haired Vesta, long of yore. 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign 25 
Such mixture was not held a stain. 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 3o 

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train. 
And sable stole of cypress lawn 3S 

Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
With even step, and musing gait, 
And looks commercing with the skies. 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 4o 

There, held in holy passion still. 
Forget thyself to marble, till. 
With a sad leaden downward cast. 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 46 
And hears the Muses, in a ring. 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing. 
And add to these retired Leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 50 
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring. 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
The cherub Contemplation ; 
And the mute silence hist along, Si 

'Less Philomel will deign a song. 
In her sweetest saddest plight. 
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
Gently o'er the accustom.ed oak. ^i^ 



IL PENSEROSO 



239 



Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 
Most musical, most melancholy ! 
Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, 
I woo, to hear thy even-song; 
And, missing thee, I walk unseen 65 

On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
To behold the wandering moon 
Riding near her highest noon, 
Like one that had been led astray 
Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 70 
And oft, as if her head she bowed, 
Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 
I hear the far-off curfew sound 
Over some wide watered shore, 75 

Swinging slow with sullen roar; 
Or, if the air will not permit, 
Some still, removed place will fit, 
Where glowing embers through the room 
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; 80 

Far from all resort of mirth. 
Save the cricket on the hearth, 
Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 

Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, 85 
Be seen in some high lonely tower 
Where I may oft outwa.tch the Bear 
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 9° 
The immortal mind that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook. 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or underground. 
Whose power hath a true consent, 9S 

With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy, 
In sceptered pall, come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine, 100 

Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, O, sad virgin ! that thy power 
Might raise Musseus from his bower; 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 105 

Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, 
And made hell grant what love did seek; 
Or call up him that left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold, no 

Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass, 
And of the wondrous horse of brass. 
On which the Tartar king did ride; "S 

And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung, 
Of tourneys, and of trophies hung, 



Of forests, and enchantments drear, 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. 
Till civil-suited Morn appear. 
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 
But kerchieft in a comely cloud, 125 

While rocking winds are piping loud ; 
Or ushered with a shower still. 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 
Ending on the rustling leaves. 
With minute drops from off the eaves. 130 
And, when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 
To arched walks of twilight groves, 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
Of pine, or monumental oak, i3S 

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 
There in close covert by some brook. 
Where no profaner eye may look, 140 

Hide me from day's garish eye, 
While the bee, with honied thigh, 
That at her flowery work doth sing. 
And the waters murmuring, 
With such concert as they keep, 14s 

Entice the dewy-feathered sleep ; 
And let some strange mysterious dream 
Wave at his wings, in airy stream 
Of lively portraiture displayed, 
Softly on my eyelids laid. iSo 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath. 
Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 
Or the unseen genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail iss 

To walk the studious cloister's pale. 
And love the high embowed roof, 
With antique pillars massy proof. 
And storied windows richly dight, 
Casting a dim religious light: 160 

There let the pealing organ blow 
To the full-voiced choir below 
In service high and anthems clear 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies, 165 

And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at }ast my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 170 

Of every star that heaven doth shew. 
And every herb that sips the dew, 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give, ^7S 
And I with thee will choose to live. 



24C> 



JOHN MILTON 



LYCIDAS 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once 

more, 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come, to pluck your berries harsh and 

crude. 
And with forced fingers rude 
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing 
year. S 

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
Compels me to disturb your season due; 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime. 
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer; 
Who would not sing for Lycidas? He 
knew }° 

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rime. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 
Begin, then, sisters of the sacred well is 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth 

spring : 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the 

string; 
Hence with denial vain, , and coy excuse: 
So may some gentle muse 
With lucky words favor my destined urn. 
And as he passes, turn, ^^ 

And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! 
For we were nursed upon the self-same 
hill, 
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, 

and rill. 
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
Under the opening eyelids of the morn, 26 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry 

horn. 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews 

of night. 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
Toward heaven's descent had sloped his 
westering wheel. 3i 

Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute; 
Tempered to the oaten flute 
Rough satyrs danced, and fauns with cloven 

heel 

From the glad sound would not be absent 

long: 35 

And old Damojtas loved to hear our song. 

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art 

gone. 

Now thou art gone and never must return ! 

Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert 

caves, 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'er- 
grown, 40 



And all their echoes, mourn : 

The willows, and the hazel copses green, 

Shall now no more be seen 

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft 

lays 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 45 

Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that 

graze. 
Or frost to flowers that their gay ward- 
robe wear, 
When first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
Where were ye. Nymphs, when the re- 
morseless deep 50 
Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, 

lie. 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard 
stream : 55 

Ah me ! I fondly dream, 
' Had ye been there ' : . . . for what 

could that have done? 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus 

bore. 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son 
Whom universal nature did lament, 60 

When by the rout that made the hideous 

roar 
His gory visage down the stream was 

sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian 
shore ? 
Alas ! \yhat boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's 
trade, 65 

And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
Were it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
Or with the tangles of Nesera's hair? 
Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth 
raise 7° 

(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights and live laborious days : 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find. 
And think to, burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred 
shears 75 

And slits the thin-spun life. ' But not- the 

praise,' 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling 

ears : 
' Fame is no plant that grows on mortal 

soil. 
Nor in the glistering foil 
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor 
lies, 80 



LYCIDAS 



241 



But lives and spreads aloft by those pure 

eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove : 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so much fame in heaven expect thy 

meed.' 
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honored 

flood, 8s 

Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds, 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
But now my oat proceeds, 
And listens to the herald of the sea 
That came in Neptune's plea ; 90 

He asked the waves, and asked the felon 

winds. 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle 

swain ? 
And questioned every gust, of rugged wings. 
That blows from off each beaked promon- 
tory: 
They know not of his story: 95 

And sage Hippotades their answer brings. 
That not a blast was from his dungeon 

strayed, 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 
It was that fatal and perfidious bark, 100 
Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses 

dark. 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing 

slow. 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 
Inwrought with figures dim and on the 

edge 105 

Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with 

woe. 
*Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest 

pledge ? ' 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the Galilean lake. 
Two massy keys he bore, of metals twain, 
The golden opes, the iron shuts amain, m 
He shook his mitered locks, and stern be- 
spake : 
' How well could I have spared for thee, 

young' swain. 
Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the 

fold ! 
Of other care they little reckoning make "6 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest; 
Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know 

how to hold 
A sheep-hook, or have learned ought else 

the least ^^° 



That to the faithful herdsman's art be- 
longs ! 

What recks it them? What need they? 
They are sped, 

And, when they list, their lean and flashy 
songs 

Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched 
straw ; 

The hungry sheep look up, and are not 
fed, 125 

But, swoln with wind and the rank mist 
they draw. 

Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; 

Besides what the grim wolf, with privy 
paw. 

Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 

But that two-handed engine at the door 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no 

more.' 131 

Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, 

That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian 
Muse, 

And call the vales, and bid them hither 
cast 

Their bells and flowerets of a thousand 
hues. 13s 

Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers 
use 

Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing 
brooks, 

On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely 
looks. 

Throw hither all your quaint enameled 
eyes 

That on the green turf suck the honeyed 
showers, 140 

And purple all the ground with vernal flow- 
ers. 

Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 

The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine. 

The white pink, and the pansy freaked with 
jet, 

The glowing violet, us 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired wood- 
bine. 

With cowslips wan that hang the pensive 
head, 

And every flower that sad embroidery 
wears ; 

Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed. 

And daffodillies fill their cups with tears. 

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid 
lies. 151 

For so, to interpose a little ease, 

Let our frail thoughts dally with false sur- 
mise : 

Ah me ! whilst thee the shores and sound- 
ing seas 



242 



JOHN MILTON 



Wash far away, where'er thy bones are 
hurled; ^55 

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou, perhaps under the whelming 

tide, 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows de- 
nied, 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, i6o 
Where the great vision of the guarded 

mount 
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's 

hold: 
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with 

ruth ; 

And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 

Weep no more, .woeful shepherds, weep 

no more, ^^s 

For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 

Sunk though he be beneath the watery 

floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed. 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head. 
And tricks his beams, and, with new span- 
gled ore, 170 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of Him that 

walked the waves, 
Where, other groves and other streams 

along. 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 176 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and 

love. 
There entertain him all the saints above, 
In solemn troops and sweet societies 
That sing, and, singing, in their glory 



move. 



180 



And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 

Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks 

and rills, 186 

While the still morn went out with sandals 

gray; 
He touched the tender stops of various 

quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay; 
And now the sun had stretched out all the 

hills. 190 

And now was dropt into the western bay; 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle 

blue; 
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 



SONNETS 

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO 
THE CITY 

Captain or colonel, or knight in arms, 
Whose chance on these defenseless doors 

may seize. 
If deed of honor did thee ever please. 
Guard them, and him within protect from 

harms. 
He can requite thee ; for he knows the 

charms S 

That call fame on such gentle acts as these. 
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and 

seas. 
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle 

warms. 
Lift not thy spear ?igainst the Muses' 

bower : 
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 10 
The house of Pindarus, when temple and 

tower 
Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 
Of sad Electra's poet had the power 
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 

[to a virtuous young lady ] 

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 
Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the 

green. 
And with those few art eminently seen 
That labor up the hill of heavenly truth, 4 
The better part with Mary and with Ruth 
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, 
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen. 
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. 
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends 
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of 

light, . 10 

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore 

be sure 
Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feast- 

ful friends 
Passes to bliss at the mid-hour of night. 
Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and 

pure. 

ON the detraction which followed upon 

MY writing certain TREATISES 

A book was writ of late called Tetrachor- 

don, 
And woven close, both matter, form, and 

style ; 
The subject new: it walked the town a 

while, 
Numbering good intellects ; now seldom 

pored on. 



SONNETS 



243 



Cries the stall-reader, ' Bless us ! what a 

word on 5 

A title page is this ! ' and some in file 
Stand spelling false, while one might walk 

to Mile- 
End Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than 

Gordon, 
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp? 
Those rugged names to our like mouths 

grow sleek 10 

That would have made Quintilian stare and 

gasp. 
Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John 

Cheke, 
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp, 
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King 

Edward Greek. 

ON THE SAME 

I did' but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty. 
When straight a barbarous noise environs 

me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs ; 
As when those hinds that were transformed 

to frogs s 

Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny. 
Which after held the sun and moon in fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, 
That bawl for freedom in their senseless 

mood, 
And still revolt when truth would set them 

free. 10 

License they mean when they cry Liberty ; 
For who loves that must first be wise and 

good : 
But from "that mark how far they rove we 

see. 
For all this waste of wealth and loss of 

blood. 

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL MAY l6S2 

ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT 
THE COMMITTEE FOR PROPAGATION OF THE 
GOSPEL 

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through 

a cloud 
Not of war only, but detractions rude. 
Guided by faith a:nd matchless fortitude, 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast 

ploughed. 
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work 

pursued, 6 

While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots 

imbrued. 



And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises 

loud, 
And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much 

remains 
To conquer still ; Peace hath her victories 10 
No less renowned than War : new foes 

arise. 
Threatening to bind our souls with secular 

chains. 
Help us to save free conscience from the 

paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their 

maw. 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 

whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold; 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of 

old. 
When all our fathers worshipped stocks 

and stones. 
Forget not : in thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient 

fold 6 

Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their 

moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes 

sow 10 

O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth 

sway 
The triple Tyrant that from these may grow 
A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 

[on his BLINDNESS ] 

When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days in this dark world and 

wide. 
And that one talent which is death to hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul 

more bent 
To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide, 6 
'Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?' 
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, ' God doth not 

need 
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who 

best 10 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. 

His state 
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 
They also serve who only stand and wait.' 



244 



JOHN MILTON 



[to cyriack skinner ] 

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, 

though clear, 
To outward view, of blemish or of spot, 
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the 

year, s 

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate 

a jot 
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer 
Right onward. What supports me, dost 

thou ask? 
The conscience, friend, to have lost them 

overplied ^° 

In liberty's defense, my noble task. 
Of which all Europe rings from side to 

side. 
This thought might lead me through the 

world's vain mask 
Content, though blind, had I no better guide. 

[on his deceased MaFE] 

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave. 
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband 

gave. 
Rescued from Death by force, though pale 

and faint. 
Mine, as whom washed from spot of child- 
bed taint 5 
Purification in the old law did save. 
And such as yet once more I trust to have 
Full sight of her in heaven without re- 
straint. 
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind. 
Her face was veiled ; yet to my fancied 
sight 10 
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person 

shined 
So clear as in no face with more delight. 
But, oh ! as to embrace me she inclined, 
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my 
night. 



PARADISE LOST 
BOOK I 

THE ARGUMENT 

This First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole 
subject, — -Man's disobedience, and the loss 
thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed: 
then touches the prime cause of his fall, — the 
serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent; who, 



revolting from God, and drawing to his side 
many legions of angels, was, by the command 
of God, driven out of heaven, with all his 
crew, into the great deep. Which action 
passed over, the poem hastens into the midst 
of things, presenting Satan, with his angels, 
now fallen into hell, described here, not in 
the center (for heaven and earth may be sup- 
posed as yet not made, certainly not yet ac- 
cursed), but in a place of utter darkness, fit- 
liest called Chaos: here Satan with his angels, 
lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and 
astonished, after a certain space recovers, as 
from confusion, calls up him who next in order 
and dignity lay by him. They confer of their 
miserable fall; Satan awakens all his legions, 
who lay till then in the same manner con- 
founded. They rise; their numbers; array of 
battle; their chief leaders named, according to 
the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the 
countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his 
speech, comforts them with hope yet of regain- 
ing hea-ven, but tells them lastly of a new world 
and new kind of creature to be created, ac- 
cording to an ancient prophecy, or report, in 
heaven — for, that the angels were long before 
this visible creation, was the opinion of many 
ancient fathers. To find out the truth of this 
prophecy, and what to determine thereon, he 
refers to a full council. What his associates 
thence attempt. Pandemonium, the palace of 
Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the deep: 
the infernal peers there sit in council. 

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our 

woe, 
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 5 
Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top 
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, did'st inspire 
That shepherd, who first taught the chosen 

seed. 
In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of chaos : or, if Sion hill lo 

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that 

flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, 
That with no middle flight intends to soar 
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues 
Things unattempted yet in prose or rime. 
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 
Before all temples the upright heart and 

pure. 
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from 

the first 
Wast present, and, with mighty wings out- 
spread, 20 
Dove-like, sat'st brooding on the vast abyss 
And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark, 
Illumine ; what is low, raise and support ; 
That to the height of this great argument 
I may assert eternal Providence, 25 



PARADISE LOST 



245 



And justify the ways of God to men. 

Say first — for heaven hides nothing from 

thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of hell — say first, what 

cause 
Moved our grand Parents, in that happy 

state, 
Favored of Heaven so highly, to fall off 3° 
From their Creator, and transgress his will 
For one restraint, lords of the world 

besides. 
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? 
The infernal Serpent; he it was, whose 

guile, 
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived 
The mother of mankind; what time his 

pride 36 

Had cast him out from heaven, with all his 

host 
Of rebel angels; by whose aid, aspiring 
To set himself in glory above his peers. 
He trusted lo have equaled the Most 

High, 
n he opposed; and, with ambitious aim 41 
Against the throne and monarchy of God, 
Raised impious war in heaven, and battle 

proud. 
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty 

Power 
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal 

sky, 45 

With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell 
In adamantine chains and penal fire. 
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. 
Nine times the space that measures day 

and night 50 

To mortal men, he with his horrid crew 
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded, though immortal. But his 

doom 
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the 

thought 
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain SS 
Torments him; round he throws his baleful 

eyes. 
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, 
Mixed with obdurate pride, and steadfast 

hate. 
At once, as far as angels' ken, he views 
The dismal situation waste and wild. 60 

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round. 
As one great furnace, flamed; yet from 

those flames 
No light; but rather darkness visible 
Served only to discover sights of woe, 
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where 

peace 6s 



And rest can never dwell; hope never 

comes 
That comes to all; but torture without end 
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed. 
Such place eternal justice had prepared 70 
For those rebellious; here their prison or- 
dained 
In utter darkness, and their portion set 
As far removed from God and light of 

heaven. 
As from the center thrice to the utmost 

pole. 
O, how unlike the place from whence they 

fell ! 75 

There the companions of his fall, o'er- 

whelmed 
With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous 

fire. 
He soon discerns; and weltering by his 

side 
One next himself in power, and next in 

crime. 
Long after known in Palestine, and named 
Beelzebub. To whom the arch-enemy, 81 
And thence in heaven called Satan, with 

bold words 

Breaking the horrid silence, thus began : — 

'If thou beest he — but O, how fall'n ! 

how changed 

From him who, in the happy realms of light. 

Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst 

outshine 86 

Myriads, though bright! If he, whom 

mutual league. 
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 
And hazard in the glorious enterprise. 
Joined with me once, now misery hath 

joined 90 

In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest 
From what height fall'n, so much the 

stronger proved 
He with his thunder: and till then who 

knew 
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for 

those, 
Nor what the potent victor in his rage 95 
Can else inflict, do I repent or change, 
Though changed in outward luster, that 

fixed mind, 
And high disdain from sense of injured 

merit, 
That with the Mightiest raised me to 

contend, 
And to the fierce contention brought along 
Innumerable force of spirits armed, loi 

That durst dislike his reign, and, me pre- 
ferring 



246 



JOHN MILTON 



His utmost power with adverse power op- 
posed 
In dubious battle on the plains of heaven, 
And shook his throne. What though the 
field be lost? ^os 

All is not lost; the unconquerable will, 
And study of revenge, immortal hate. 
And courage never to submit or yield, 
And what is else not to be overcome; 
That glory never shall his wrath or might 
Extort from me. To bow and sue for 
grace ^^' 

With suppliant knee, and deify his power 
Who from the terror of this arm so late 
Doubted his empire — that were low indeed, 
That were an ignominy, and shame beneath 
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength 
of gods, /'^ 

And this empyreal substance, cannot fail: 
Since, through experience of this great 

event, 
[n arms not worse, in foresight much ad- 
vanced, 
We may with more successful hope resolve 
To wage by force or guile eternal war, 121 
Irreconcilable to our grand foe. 
Who now triumphs, and, in the excess of 

joy 
Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of heaven.' 
So spake the apostate angel, though in 
pain, ^^5 

Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep de- 
spair 
And him thus answered soon his bold com- 
peer : — 
'O prince, O chief of many-throned 
powers, 
That led the embattled seraphim to war 
Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds 
Fearless, endangered heaven's perpetual 
King, 131 

And put to proof his high supremacy, 
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or 

fate; 
Too well I see, and rue the dire event, 
That with sad overthrow, and foul defeat, 
,Hath lost us heaven, and all this mighty 
host ^36 

In horrible destruction laid thus low, 
As far as gods and heavenly essences 
Can perish : for the mind and spirit remain 
Invincible, and vigor soon returns, 140 

Though all our glory extinct, and happy 

state 
Here swallowed up in endless misery. 
But what if he our Conqueror (whom I 

now 
Of force believe Almighty, since no less 



Than such could have o'erpowered such 

force as ours) ^45 

Have left us this our spirit and strength 

entire. 
Strongly to suffer and support our pains, 
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire. 
Or do him mightier service as his thralls 
By right of war, whate'er his business be, 
Here in the heart of hell to work in fire, 
Or do his errands in the gloomy deep? 
What can it then avail, though yet we feel 
Strength undiminished, or eternal being 
To undergo eternal punishment?' iss 

Whereto with speedy words the arch-fiend 

replied : — 
' Fallen cherub, to be weak is miserable. 
Doing or suffering; but of this be sure, 
To do aught good never will be our task. 
But ever to do ill our sole delight, 160 
As being the contrary to his high will 
Whom we resist. If then his providence 
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good. 
Our labor must be to pervert that end, 164 
And out of good still to find means of evil, 
Which ofttimes may succeed, so as perhaps 
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb 
His inmost counsels from their destined 

aim. 
But see, the angry Victor hath recalled 
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170 
Back to the gates of heaven ; the sulphur- 
ous hail. 
Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid 
The fiery surge, that from the precipice 
Of heaven received us falling; and the 

thunder. 
Winged with red lightning and impetuous 
rage, ^75 

Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases 

now 
To bellow through the vast and boundless 

deep. 
Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn 
Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. 
Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and 
wild, 180 

The seat of desolation, void of light, 
Save what the glimmering of these livid 

flames 
Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us 

tend 
From off the tossing of these fiery waves; 
There rest, if any rest can harbor there; 185 
And, re-assembling our afflicted powers. 
Consult how we may henceforth most of- 
fend 
Our enemy; our own loss how repair; 
How overcome this dire calamity; 



PARADISE LOST 



247 



What reinforcement we may gain from 

hope ; 190 

If not, what resolution from despair.' 

Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate. 
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes 
That sparkling blazed; his other parts be- 
sides 
Prone on the flood, extended long and large, 
Lay floating many a rood ; in bulk as huge 
As whom the fables name of monstrous 

size, 197 

Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on 

Jove; 
Briareos or Typhon, whom the den 
By ancient Tarsus held ; or that sea-beast 
Leviathan, which God of all his works 201 
Created hugest that swim the ocean stream. 
Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway 

foam. 
The pilot of some small night-foundered 

skiff, 
Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind 206 

Moors by his side under the lee, while night 
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays : 
So stretched out huge in length the arch- 
fiend lay 
Chained on the burning lake : nor ever 

thence 210 

Had risen, or heaved his head ; but that the 

will 
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven 
Left him at large to his own dark designs ; 
That with reiterated crimes he might 
Heap on himself damnation, while he 

sought 215 

Evil to others ; and, enraged, might see 
How all his malice served but to bring forth 
Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shown 
On man by him seduced ; but on himself 
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance 

poured. 220 

Forthwith upright he rears from off the 

pool 
His mighty stature; on each hand the 

flames. 
Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, 

and rolled 
In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. 
Then with expanded wings he steers his 

flight 225 

Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air. 
That felt unusual weight ; till on dry land 
He lights, if it were land that ever burned 
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire; 
And such appeared in hue, as when the 

force 230 

Of subterranean wind transports a hill 



Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side 
Of thundering Etna, whose combustible 
And fuelled entrails thence conceiving fire. 
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds. 
And leave a singed bottom, all involved 236 
With stench and smoke : such resting found 

the sole 
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next 

mate : 
Both glorying to have 'scaped the stygian 

flood. 
As gods, and by their own recovered 

strength, 240 

Not by the sufferance of supernal power. 

' Is this the region, this the soil, the 

clime,' 

Said then the lost archangel, 'this the seat 

That we must change for heaven; this 

mournful gloom 
For that celestial light? Be it so, since he. 
Who now is Sovereign, can dispose and bid 
What shall be right: farthest from him is 

best, 247 

Whom reason hath equaled, force hath 

made supreme 
Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, 
Where joy for ever dwells ! Hail, horrors ! 

hail 250 

Infernal world ! and thou profoundest hell. 
Receive thy new possessor — one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time : 
The mind is its own place, and in itself 254 
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. 
What matter where, if I be still the same. 
And what I should be ; all but less than he 
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here 

at least 
We shall be free : the Almighty hath not 

built 
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: 
Here we may reign secure, and, in my 

choice, 261 

To reign is worth ambition, though in hell ; 
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven. 
But wherefore let we then our faithful 

friends. 
The associates and co-partners of our 

loss. 
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool. 
And call them not to share with us their 

part 267 

In this unhappy mansion ; or once more 
With rallied arms to try what may be yet 
Regained in heaven, or what more lost in 
hell?' 270 

So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub 
Thus answered: 'Leader of those armies 

bright. 



248 



JOHN MILTON 



Which, but the Omnipotent, none could 

have foiled. 
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest 

pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft 
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
Of battle when it raged, in all assaults 277 
Their surest signal, they will soon resume 
New courage and revive; though now they 

lie 
Groveling and prostrate on yon lake of 

fire, 280 

As we erewhile, astounded and amazed ; 
No wonder, fall 'n such a pernicious height.' 
He scarce had ceased, when the superior 
fiend 
Was moving toward the shore: his ponder- 
ous shield 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, 
Behind him cast; the broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose 

orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening, from the top of Fesole, 
Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 290 
Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
His spear, to equal which the tallest pine 
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
Of some great admiral, were but a wand, 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 29s 
Over the burning marl, not like those steps 
On heaven's azure, and the torrid clime. 
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with 

fire: 
Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 
His legions, angel forms, who lay entranced, , 
Thick as autumnal leaves, that strew the 

brooks 302 

In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades. 
High over-arched, embower ; or scattered 

sedge 
Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed 
Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves 

o'erthrew 306 

Busiris and his Memphian chivalry. 
While with perfidious hatred they pursued 
The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 
From the safe shore their floating carcasses 
And broken chariot-wheels ; so thick be- 
strewn, 311 
Abject and lost lay these, covering the 

flood. 
Under amazement of their hideous change. 
He called so loud, that all the hollow deep 
Of hell resounded. 'Princes, potentates, 31s 
Warriors, the flower of heaven, once yours, 

now fost. 



If such astonishment as this can seize 
Eternal spirits ; or have ye chosen this 

place 
After the toil of battle to repose 31? 

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven? 
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 
To adore the Conqueror? who now beholds 
Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood 
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 
His swift pursuers from heaven-gates dis- 
cern 326 
The advantage, and descending, tread us 

down 
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? 
Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n ! ' 330 
They heard, and were abashed, and up 
they sprung 
Upon the wing ; as when men, wont to 

watch 
On duty, sleeping found by whom they 

dread. 
Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake. 
Nor did they not perceive the evil pHght 
In which they were, or the fierce pains not 

feel ; 33^ 

Yet to their general's voice they soon 

obeyed. 
Innumerable. As when the potent rod 
Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day. 
Waved round the coast, up called a pitchy 

cloud 340 

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind. 
That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh 

hung 
Like night, and darkened all the land of 

Nile: 
So numberless were those bad angels seen 
Hovering on wing under the cope of hell, 
'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding 

fires; 346 

Till, at a signal given, the uplifted spear 
Of their great sultan waving to direct 
Their course, in even balance down they 

light 349 

On the firm brimstone, and fill all the 

plain : 
A multitude like which the populous north 
Poured never from her frozen loins, to pass 
Rhine or the Danube, when her barbarous 

sons 
Came like a deluge on the south and spread 
Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands. 3SS 
Forthwith from every squadron and each 

band 
The heads and leaders thither haste where 

stood 



PARADISE LOST 



249 



Their great commander; godlike shapes and 

forms 
Excelling human ; princely dignities ; 
And powers that erst in heaven sat on 

thrones, 360 

Though of their names in heavenly records 

now 
Be no memorial ; blotted out and rased 
By their rebellion from the books of life. 
Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve 
Got them new names ; till, wandering o'er 

the earth, 365 

Through God's high sufferance, for the trial 

of man. 
By falsities and lies the greater part 
Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 
God their Creator, and the invisible 
Glory of him that made them, to transform 
Oft to the image of a brute, adorned 371 
With gay religions, full of pomp and gold. 
And devils to adore for deities : 
Then were they known to men by various 

names. 
And various idols through the heathen 
world. 375 

Say, Muse, their names then known, who 

first, who last. 
Roused from the slumber on that fiery 

couch. 
At their great emperor's call, as next in 

worth, 
Came singly where he stood on the bare 

strand. 
While the promiscuous crowd stood yet 

aloof. 380 

The chief were those who from the pit of 

hell, 
Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst 

fix 
Their seats long after next the seat of God, 
Their altars by his altar, gods adored 384 
Among the nations round, and durst abide 
Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned 
Between the cherubim; yea, often placed 
Within his sanctuary itself their shrines. 
Abominations ; and with cursed things 389 
His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned. 
And with their darkness durst affront his 

light. 
First, Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with 

blood ' 
Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears; 
Though, for the noise of drums and 

timbrels loud, 
Their children's cries unheard, that passed 

through fire 395 

To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite 
Worshipped in Rabba and her watery plain, 



In Argob and in Basan, to the stream 
Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such 
Audacious neighborhood, the wisest heart 
Of Solomon he led by fraud to build 401 
His temple right against the temple of God, 
On that opprobrious hill ; and made his 

grove 
The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet 

thence 
And black Gehenna called, the type of hell. 
Next, Chemos, the obscene dread of Moab's 

sons, 406 

From Aroer to Nebo, and the wild 
Of southmost Abarim ; in Hesebon 
And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond 
The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, 
And Eleale to the asphaltic pool; 411 

Peor his other name, when he enticed 
Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, 
To do him wanton rites, which cost them 

woe. 
Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged 415 
Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove 
Of Moloch homicide: lust hard by hate; 
Till good Josiah drove them thence to hell. 
With these came they who, from the border- 
ing flood 
Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts 
Egypt from Syrian ground, had general 

names 421 

Of Baalim and Ashtaroth ; those male. 
These feminine; for spirits, when they 

please, 
Can either sex assume, or both ; so soft 
And uncompounded is their essence pure ; 
Not tied or manacled with joint or limb, 426 
Nor founded on the brittle strength of 

bones. 
Like cumbrous flesh ; but, in what shape 

they choose. 
Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure. 
Can execute their aery purposes, 43° 

And works of love or enmity fulfil. 
For those the race of Israel oft forsook 
Their living Strength, and unfrequented left 
His righteous altar, bowing lowly down 
To bestial gods ; for which their heads as 

low 435 

Bowed down in battle, sunk before the 

spear 
Of despicable foes. With these in troop 
Came Astoreth, whom the Phenicians called 
Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent 

horns ; 
To whose bright image nightly by the moon 
Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs ; 
In Sion also not unsung, where stood 442 
Her temple on the offensive mountain, built 



250 



JOHN MILTON 



By that uxorious king, whose heart, though 

large, 
Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell 445 

To idols foul. Thammuz came next behind, 
Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured 
The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 
In amorous ditties all a summer's day; 
While smooth Adonis from his native rock 
Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood 
Of Thammuz yearly wounded; the love-tale 
Infected Sion's daughters with like heat ; 
Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch 
Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, 455 
His eye surveyed the dark idolatries 
Of alienated Judah. Next came one 
Who mourned in earnest, when the captive 

ark 
Maimed his brute image, head and hands 

lopped off 
In his own temple, on the grunsel edge, 460 
Where he fell fiat, and shamed his worship- 
pers; 
Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man 
And downward fish; yet had his temple 

high 
Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the 

coast 
Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, 46s 

And Accaron and Gazar's frontier bounds. 
Him followed Rimmon, whose delightful 

seat 
Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 
Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. 
He also 'gainst the house of God was bold : 
A leper once he lost, and gained a king; 471 
Ahaz his sottish conqueror, whom he drew 
God's altar to disparage and displace 
For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn 
His odious offerings, and adore the gods 475 
Whom he had vanquished. After these ap- 
peared 
A crew who, under names of old renown, 
Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train. 
With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused 
Fanatic Egypt and her priests, to seek 480 
Their wandering gods disguised in brutish 

forms 
Rather than human. Nor did Israel 'scape 
The infection, when their borrowed gold 

composed 
The calf in Oreb ; and the rebel king 
Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, 485 
Likening his Maker to the grazed ox — 
Jehovah, who in one night, when he passed 
From Egypt marching, equaled with one 

stroke 
Both her first-born and all her bleating 
gods. 



Belial came last, than whom a spirit more 
lewd 490 

Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love 
Vice for itself ; to him no temple stood, 
Or altar smoked ; yet who more oft than he 
In temples and at altars, when the priest 
Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled 
With lust and violence the house of God? 
In courts and palaces he also reigns, 497 
And in luxurious cities, where the noise 
Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers. 
And injury and outrage: and when night 
Darkens the streets, then wander forth the 
sons SOI 

Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. 
Witness the streets of Sodom, and that 

night 
In Gibeah, when the hospitable door 
Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape. 5os 
These were the prime in order and in 
might : 
The rest were long to- tell, though far re- 
nowned. 
The Ionian gods — of Javan's issue held 
Gods, yet confessed later than heaven and 

earth. 
Their boasted parents: Titan, heaven's first- 
born sio 
With his enormous brood, and birthright 

seized 
By younger Saturn; he from mightier Jove, 
His own and Rhea's son, like measure 

found ; 
So Jove usurping reigned : these first in 
Crete 5i4 

And Ida known, thence on the snowy top 
Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air. 
Their highest heaven ; or on the Delphian 

cliff, 
Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds 
Of Doric land: or who with Saturn old 
Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields, s^o 
And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost isles. 
All these and more came flocking, but 
with looks 
Downcast and damp; yet such wherein ap- 
peared 
Obscure some glimpse of joy, to have found 

their chief 
Not in despair, to have found themselves 
not lost 525 

In loss itself; which on his countenance 

cast 
Like doubtful hue ; but he, his wonted pride 
Soon recollecting, with high words, that 

bore 
Semblance of worth, not substance, gently 
raised 



PARADISE LOST 



251 



Their fainting courage, and dispelled their 
fears. 53o 

Then straight commands that at the war- 
like sound 
Of trumpets loud and clarions be upreared 
His mighty standard ; that proud honor 

claimed 
Azazel as his right, a cherub tall; 
Who forthwith from the glittering staff un- 
furled 535 
The imperial ensign ; which, full high ad- 
vanced, 
Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind. 
With gems and golden luster rich emblazed, 
Seraphic arms and trophies, all the while 
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds : 
At which the universal host up-sent 541 
A shout, that tore hell's concave, and be- 
yond 
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 
All in a moment through the gloom were 

seen 
Ten thousand banners rise into the air. 545 
With orient colors waving; with them rose 
A forest huge of spears ; and thronging" 

helms 
Appeared, and serried shields in thick array 
Of depth immeasurable; anon they move 
In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood S5o 
Of flutes and soft recorders; such as raised 
To height of noblest temper heroes old 
Arming to battle, and instead of rage, 
Deliberate valor breathed, firm and un- 
moved 554 
With dread of death to flight or foul re- 
treat ; 
Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suage 
With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and 

chase 
Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, 

and pain 

From mortal or immortal minds. Thus 

they, 559 

Breathing united force, with fixed thought. 

Moved on in silence, to soft pipes, that 

charmed 
Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil: and 

now 
Advanced in view they stand; a horrid 

front 
Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in 

guise 
Of warriors old with ordered spear and 
shield, 565 

Awaiting what command their mighty chief 
Had to impose : he through the armed files 
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 
The whole battalion views, their order due. 



Their visages and stature as of gods ; 57° 
Their number last he sums. And now his 

heart 
Distends with pride, and hardening in his 

strength 
Glories : for never since created man 
Met such embodied force as, named with 

these. 
Could merit more than that small infantry 
Warred on by cranes : though all the giant 

brood 576 

Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined 
That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each 

side 
Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what re- 
sounds 
In fable or romance of Uther's son 580 

Begirt with British and Armoric knights; 
And all who since, baptized or infidel. 
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 
Damascus, or Morocco, or Trebizond, 
Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore. 
When Charlemagne with all his peerage 

fell 586 

By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond 
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 
Their dread commander; he, above the rest 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent, SQo 
Stood like a tower ; his form had yet not 

lost 
All its original brightness ; nor appeared 
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
Of glory obscured: as when the sun, new 

risen, 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 595 
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the 

moon. 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet 

shone 
Above them all the archangel; but his 

face 600 

Deep scars of thunder had entrenched; and 

care 
Sat on his faded cheek; but under brows 
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 
Waiting revenge; cruel his eye, but cast 
Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 605 
The felloAvs of his crime, the followers 

rather 
(Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned 
For ever now to have their lot in pain ; 
Millions of spirits for his fault amerced 
Of heaven, and from eternal splendors 

flung 610 

For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood. 
Their glory withered; as when heaven's fire 



252 



JOHN MILTON 



Hath scathed the forest oaks, or mountain 

pines, 
With singed top their stately growth, though 

bare, 
Stands on the blasted heath. He now pre- 
pared ^^s 
To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they 

bend 
From wing to wing, and half enclose him 

round 
With all his peers: attention held them 

mute. 
Thrice he essayed, and thrice, in spite of 

scorn. 

Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth; at 

last 6^° 

Words, interwove with sighs, found out 

their way. 

' O myriads of immortal spirits ! O powers 

Matchless, but with the Almighty; and that 

strife 
Was not inglorious, though the event was 
dire, ^^4 

As this place testifies, and this dire change. 
Hateful to utter! but what power of mind. 
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth 
Of knowledge, past or present, could have 

feared 
How such united force of gods, how such 
As stood like these, could ever know re- 
pulse? 630 
For who can yet believe, though after loss. 
That all these puissant legions, whose exile 
Hath emptied heaven, shall fail to reascend 
Self-raised, and repossess their native seat? 
For me, be witness all the host of heaven. 
If counsels different, or dangers shunned 636 
By me, have lost our hopes. But he who 

reigns 
Monarch in heaven, till then as one secure 
Sat on this throne upheld by old repute, 
Consent or custom ; and his regal state 640 
Put forth at full, but still his strength con- 
cealed. 
Which tempted our attempt, and wrought 

our fall. 
Henceforth his might we know, and know 

our own ; 
So as not either to provoke, or dread 
New war, provoked ; our better part re- 
mains, 643 
To work in close design, by fraud or guile, 
What force effected not ; that he no less 
At length from us may find, who over- 
comes 
By force, hath overcome but half his foe. 
Space may produce new worlds ; whereof 
so rife 650 



There went a fame in heaven that he ere 

long 
Intended to create, and therein plant 
A generation, whom his choice regard 
Should favor equal to the sons of heaven : 
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps 655 
Our first eruption ; thither, or elsewhere ; 
For this infernal pit shall never hold 
Celestial spirits in bondage, nor the abyss 
Long under darkness cover. But these 

thoughts 
Full counsel must mature; peace is de- 
spaired ; 
For who can think submission? War, then. 



war. 



661 



Open or understood, must be resolved.' 
He spake ; and, to confirm his words, out- 
flew 
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the 

thighs 
Of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze 665 
Far round illumined hell; highly they raged 
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped 

arms 
Clashed on their sounding shields the din 

of war. 
Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven. 
There stood a hill not far, whose grisly 

top 670 

Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest en- 
tire 
Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign 
That in his womb was hid metallic ore, 
The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with 

speed, 
A numerous brigade hastened : as when 

bands 67s 

Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, 
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, 
Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on: 
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
From heaven ; for even in heaven his looks 

and thoughts 680 

Were always downward bent, admiring 

more 
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden 

gold. 
Than aught, divine or holy, else enjoyed 
In vision beatific; by him first 
Men also, and by his suggestion taught, 68s 
Ransacked the center, and with impious 

hands 
Rifled the bowels of their mother earth 
For treasures, better hid. Soon had his 

crew 
Opened into the hill a spacious wound, 
And digged out ribs of gold. Let none ad- 

690 



mire 



PARADISE LOST 



253 



That riches grow in hell; that soil may- 
best 
Deserve the precious bane. And here let 

those 
Who boast in mortal things, and wonder- 
ing tell 
Of Babel, and the works of Memphian 

kings, 
Learn how their greatest monuments of 
fame, ^95 

And strength and art, are easily outdone 
By spirits reprobate, and in an hour 
What in an age they with incessant toil 
And hands innumerable scarce perform. 
Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, 
That underneath had veins of liquid fire 701 
Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude 
With wondrous art founded the massy ore, 
Severing each kind, and scummed the bul- 
lion dross; 
A third as soon had formed within the 
ground 705 

A various mold, and from the boiling cells, 
By strange conveyance, filled each hollow 

nook, 
As in an organ, from one blast of wind. 
To many a row of pipes the sound-board 

breathes. 
Anon, out of the earth a fabric huge 7io 
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, 
Built like a temple, where pilasters round 
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid 
With golden architrave ; nor did there want 
Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures 
graven: 716 

The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, 
Nor great Alcairo, such^ magnificence 
Equaled in all their glories, to enshrine 
Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat 720 

Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 
In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile 
Stood fixed her stately height : and straight 

the doors, 
Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide 
Within, her ample spaces, o'er the smooth 
And level pavement; from the arched 
roof, 726 

Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 
Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light 
As from a sky. The hasty multitude 730 
Admiring entered ; and the work some 

praise. 
And some the architect : his hand was 

known 
In heaven by many a towered structure 
high • 



Where sceptered angels held their residence, 
And sat as princes ; whom the supreme 
King 735 

Exalted to such power, and gave to rule. 
Each in his hierarchy, the orders bright. 
Nor was his name unheard or unadored 
In ancient Greece ; and in Ausonian land 
Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell 
From heaven they fabled, thrown by angry 
Jove 741 

Sheer o'er the crystal battlements : from 

morn 
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 
A summer's day; and with the setting sun 
Dropped from the zenith like a falling star, 
On Lemnos, th' ^gean isle : thus they re- 
late, 746 
Erring; for he with this rebellious rout 
Fell long before ; nor aught availed him 

now 
To have built in heaven high towers ; nor 
did he 'scape 749 

By all his engines, but was headlong sent 
With his industrious crew to build in hell. 
Meanwhile, the winged heralds, by com- 
mand 
Of sovereign power, with awful ceremony 
And trumpet's sound, throughout the host 

proclaim 
A solemn council, forthwith to be held 755 
At Pandemonium, the high capital 
Of Satan and his peers : their summons 

called 
From every band and squared regiment 
By place or choice the worthiest ; they anon, 
With hundreds and with thousands, troop- 
ing came, 760 
Attended ; all access was thronged ; the 

gates 
And porches wide, but chief the spacious 

hall 
(Though like a covered field, where cham- 
pions bold 
Wont ride in armed, and at the soldan's 

chair • 
Defied the best of paynim chivalry 765 

To mortal combat, or career with lance), 
Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in 

the air. 
Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. 

As bees 
In spring-time, when the sun with Taurus 

rides. 
Pour forth their populous youth about the 
hive 770 

In clusters; they among fresh dews and 

flowers 
Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank. 



254 



JOHN MILTON 



The suburb of their straw-built citadel, 
New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and con- 
fer 774 
Their state affairs ; so thick the aery crowd 
Swarmed and were straitened; till, the sig- 
nal given. 
Behold a wonder ! They, but now who 

seemed 
In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons. 
Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow 

room 
Throng numberless, like that Pygmean 
race 780 

Beyond the Indian mount, or faery elves, 
Whose midnight revels, by a forest side 
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees. 
Or dreams he sees, while over head the 

moon 
Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth 78s 
Wheels her pale course; they, on their mirth 

and dance 
Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; 
At once with joy and fear his heart re- 
bounds. 
Thus incorporeal spirits to smallest forms 
Reduced their shapes immense; and were 
at large, 790 

Though without number still, amidst the 

hall 
Of that infernal court. But far within, 
And in their own dimensions, like them- 
selves. 
The great seraphic lords and cherubim 
In close recess and secret conclave sat ; 795 
A thousand demi-gods on golden seats 
Frequent and full. After short silence then, 
And summons read, the great consult be- 
gan. 

Book II 

/ High on a throne of royal state, which far 

/ Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 

Or where the gorgeous East, with richest 

hand, 

i Showers on her kings barbaric' pearl and 

\ Satan exalted sat, by merit raised S 

"■ To that bad eminence ; and, from despair 
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires 
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue 
Vain war with Heaven ; and, by success un- 
taught. 
His proud imaginations thus displayed: — 1° 
' Powers and dominions, deities of 
heaven ; 
For since no deep within her gulf can hold 
Immortal vigor, though oppressed and 
fallen, 



I give not heaven for lost. From this de- 
scent 
Celestial virtues rising, will appear iS 

More glorious and more dread than from 

no fall, 
And trust themselves to fear no second fate. 
Me, though just right, and the fixed laws of 

heaven. 
Did first create your leader; ner.t, free 

choice. 
With what besides, in council or in fight, 2° 
Hath been achieved of merit ; yet this loss, 
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more 
Established in a safe unenvied throne, 
Yielded with full consent. The happier 

state 
In heaven, which follows dignity, might 

draw 25 

Envy from each inferior ; but who here 
Will envy whom the highest place exposes 
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's 

aim. 
Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest 

share 
Of endless pain? Where there is then no 

good 30 

For which to strive, no strife can grow up 

there 
From faction; for none sure will claim in 

hell 
Precedence; none whose portion is so srnall 
Of present pain, that with ambitious mind 
Will covet more. With this advantage, then. 
To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 36 
More than can be in heaven, we now re- 
turn 
To claim our just inheritance of old. 
Surer to prosper than prosperity 
Could have assured us; and, by what best 

way, 40 

Whether of open war or covert guile. 
We now debate : who can advise, may 

speak.' 
He ceased ; and next him Moloch, scep- 

tered king. 
Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest 

spirit 
That fought in heaven, now fiercer by de- 
spair. 45 
His trust was with the Eternal to be 

deemed 
Equal in strength; and rather than be less, 
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost 
Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or 

worse. 
He recked not; and these words thereafter 

spake: — 50 

' My sentence is for open war : of wiles. 



1^1 



,^\ 



.-'N 



PARADISE LOST i • ^-^ * 



\ 



255 



More unexpert, I boast not; them let those 
Contrive who need, or when they need, not 

now. 
For, while they sit contriving, shall the 

rest, 
Millions that stand in arms, and longing 
wait ss 

The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling- 
place 
Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame, 
The prison of his tyranny who reigns 
By our delay? No, let us rather choose, 60 
Armed with hell-flames and fury, all at 

once, 
O'er heaven's high towers to force resist- 
less way. 
Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
Against the torturer; when, to meet the 

noise 
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear 65 
Infernal thunder; and, for lightning, see 
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 
Among his angels ; and his throne itself 



fire, 69 4S 

His own invented torments. But perhaps 
The way seems difficult and steep to scale 
With upright wing against a higher foe. 
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still. 
That in our proper motion we ascend 75 

Up to our native seat ; descent and fall 
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, 
When the fierce foe hung on our broken 

rear -^ r , > 
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, 
With what compulsion and laborious flight 
We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy 

then; 81 

The event is feared; should we again pro- 
voke 
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath 

may find 
To our destruction; if there be in hell 
Fearj to be worse destroyed ; what can be 

worse 8s 

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, 

condemned 
In this abhorred deep to utter woe ; 
Where pain of unexfinguishable fire 
Must exercise us without hope of end. 
The vassals of his anger, when the' scourge 
Inexorable, and the torturing hour, 91 

Calls us to penance? More destroyed than 

thus. 
We should be quite abolished, and expire. 



What fear we, then? what doubt we to in- 
cense 
His utmost ire? which, to the height en- 
raged, 95 
Will either quite consume us, and reduce 
To nothing this essential (happier far 
Than miserable to have eternal being), 
Or, if our substance be indeed divine, 
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst 100 
On this side nothing; and by proof we feel 
Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, 
And with perpetual inroads to alarm. 
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne; 
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.' los 
He ended frowning, and his look de- 
nounced 
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous 
To less than gods. On the other side up- 
rose 
Belial, in act more graceful and humane; 
A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seemed 
For dignity composed, and high exploit: i" 
But all was false and hollow, though his 
tongue 



Mixed with Tartarean sulphur, and strangey, ' Dropt manna, and could make the worse 



appear 
The better reason, to perplex and dash 
Maturest counsels : for his thoughts were 

low: "5 

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
Timorous and slothful ; yet he pleased the 

ear. 
And with persuasive accent thus began : — 
' I should be much for open war, O peers. 
As not behind in hate; if what was urged 120 
Main reason to persuade immediate war, 
Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 
Ominous conjecture on the whole success 
When he who most excels in fact of arms. 
In what he counsels and in what excels 125 
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair 
And utter dissolution as the scope 
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 
First, what revenge? The towers of heaven 

are filled 
With armed watch, that render all access 130 
Impregnable ; oft on the bordering deep 
Encamp their legions ; or, with obscure 

wing, 
Scout far and wide into the realm of night. 
Scorning surprise. Or could we break our 

way 
By force, and at our heels all hell should 

rise ' 13s 

With blackest insurrection, to confound 
Heaven's purest light ; yet our great enemy, 
All incorruptible, would on his throne 



256 



JOHN MILTON 



Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mold, 
Incapable of stain, would soon expel ^40 
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
Is flat despair : we must exasperate 
The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage, 
And that must end us; that must be our 
cure, '45 

To be no more. Sad cure! for who would 

lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being. 
Those thoughts that wander through eter- 
nity, 
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
In the wide womb of uncreated night, 150 
Devoid of sense and motion? And who 

knows, 
Let this be good, whether our angry foe 
Can give it, or will ever? how he can. 
Is doubtful ; that he never will, is sure. 
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire i55 
Belike through impotence, or unaware. 
To give his enemies their wish, and end 
Them in his anger whom his anger saves 
To punish endless? "Wherefore cease we 

then?" 
Say they who counsel war. " We are de- 
creed, 160 
Reserved, and destined to eternal woe ; 
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. 
What can we suffer worse?" In this then 

worst. 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? 
What, when we fled amain, pursued, and 
struck 165 

With heaven's afflicting thunder, and be- 
sought 
The deep to shelter us? this hell then 

seemed 
A refuge from those wounds; or when we 

lay 
Chained on the burning lake? that sure was 

worse. 
What if the breath that kindled those grim 
fires, 170 

Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold 

rage. 
And plunge us in the flames? or, from 

above. 
Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague us? What 
if all 174 

Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 
One day upon our heads ; while we, perhaps. 
Designing or exhorting glorious war. 
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled j8o 



Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and 

prey 
Of racking whirlwinds; or for ever sunk 
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains ; 
There to converse with everlasting groans, 
Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 185 

Ages of hopeless end? This would be 

worse. 
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 
My voice dissuades ; for what can force or 

guile 
With him, or who deceive his mind, whose 

eye 
Views all things at one view? He from 
heaven's height '^o 

All these bur motions vain sees and de- 
rides : 
Not more almighty to resist our might. 
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and 

wiles. 
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of 

heaven 
Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here 
Chains and these torments? Better these 
than worse, 196 

By my advice ; since fate inevitable 
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, 
The victor's will. To suffer, as to do. 
Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust 200 
That so ordains; this was at first resolved, 
If we were wise, against so great a foe 
Contending, and so doubtful what might 

fall. 
I laugh, when those who at the spear are 

bold 
And venturous, if that fail them, shrink 
and fear 205 

What yet they know must follow, to en- 
dure 
Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain. 
The sentence of their conqueror; this is 

now 
Our doom; which if we can sustain and 

bear. 
Our supreme foe in time may much re- 
mit , 210 
His anger; and perhaps, thus far removed, 
Not mind us not offending, satisfied 
With what is punished ; whence these raging 

fires 
Will slacken, if his breath stir not thei*- 

flames. 
Our purer essence then will overcome 215 
Their noxious vapor ; or, inured, not feel ; 
Or, changed at length, and to the place con- 
formed 
In temper and in nature, will receive 
Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain; 



PARADISE LOST 



257 



This horror will grow mild, this darkness 

light ; 220 

Besides what hope the never-ending flight 

Of future days may bring, what chance, 

what change 
Worth waiting; since our present lot ap- 
pears 
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, 
If we procure not to ourselves more woe.' 
Thus Belial, with words clothed in rea- 
son's garb, 226 
Counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth. 
Not peace; and after him thus Mammon 
spake : — 
* Either to disenthrone the King of heaven 
We war, if war be best, or to regain 230 
Our own right lost: him to unthrone we 

then 
May hope, when everlasting fate shall yield 
To fickle chance, and Chaos judge the 

strife : 
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain 
The latter ; for what place can be for us 23S 
Within heaven's bound, unless heaven's Lord 

supreme 
We overpower? Suppose he should relent. 
And publish grace to all, on promise made 
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we 
Stand in his presence humble, and receive 
Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his 
throne 241 

With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead 

sing 
Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits 
Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes 
Ambrosial odors and ambrosial flowers, 245 
Our servile offerings? This must be our 

task 
In heaven, this our delight ; how wearisome 
Eternity so spent, in worship paid 
To whom we hate ! Let us not then pursue 
By force impossible, by leave obtained 250 
Unacceptable, though in heaven, our state 
Of splendid vassalage ; but rather seek 
Our own good from ourselves, and from our 

own 
Live to ourselves, though in this vast re- 
cess. 
Free, and to none accountable, preferring 
Hard liberty before the easy yoke 256 

Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear 
Then most conspicuous, when great things 

of small, 
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, 
We can create ; and in what place soe'er 260 
Thrive under evil, and work ease out of 
pain. 



Through labor and endurance. This deep 

world 
Of darkness do we dread? How oft 

amidst 
Thick clouds and dark doth heaven's all- 
ruling Sire 
Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, 265 
And with the majesty of darkness round 
Covers his throne; from whence deep thun- 
ders roar. 
Mustering their rage, and heaven resembles 

hell ! 
As he our darkness, cannot we his light 269 
Imitate when we please? This desert soil 
Wants not her hidden luster, gems and 

gold ; 
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to 

raise 
Magnificence; and what can heaven show 

more ? 
Our torments also may in length of time 
Become our elements ; these piercing fires 
As soft as now severe, our temper changed 
Into their temper; which must needs re- 
move 277 
The sensible of pain. All things invite 
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state 
Of order, how in safety best we may 280 
Compose our present evils, with regard 
Of what we are, and where; dismissing 

quite 
All thoughts of war. Ye have what I ad- 
vise.' 
He scarce had finished, when such mur- 
mur filled 
The assembly, as when hollow rocks re- 
tain 28s 
The sound of blustering winds which all 

night long 
Had roused the sea, now with hoarse ca- 
dence lull 
Seafaring men o'er-watched, whose bark by 

chance 
Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay 289 
After the tempest: such applause was heard 
As Mammon ended, and his sentence 

pleased, 
Advising peace; for such another field 
They dreaded worse than hell ; so much the 

fear 
Of thunder and the sword of Michael 
Wrought still within them, and no less de- 
sire 29s 
To found this nether empire, which might 

rise 
By policy, and long process of time. 
In emulation opposite to heaven. 



258 



JOHN MILTON 



Which when Beelzebub perceived, than 
whom, ^99 

Satan except, none higher sat, with grave 
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed 
A pillar of state; deep on his front en- 
graven 
Deliberation sat, and public care ; 
And princely counsel in his face yet shone, 
Majestic, though in ruin; sage he stood. 305 
With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear 
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his 

look 
Drew audience and attention still as night 
Or summer's noontide air, while thus he 
spake : — 
' Thrones and imperial powers, offspring 
of heaven, 310 

Ethereal virtues ! or these titles now 
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be 

called 
Princes of hell, for so the popular vote 
Inclines, here to continue and build up here 
A growing empire; doubtless, while we 
dream, 3' 5 

And know not that the King of heaven hath 

doomed 
This place our dungeon ; not our safe re- 
treat 
Beyond his potent arm ; to live exempt 
From heaven's high jurisdiction, in new 
league 319 

Banded against his throne, but to remain 
In strictest bondage, though thus far re- 
moved. 
Under the inevitable curb, reserved 
His captive multitude; for he, be sure, 
In height or depth, still first and last will 
reign 324 

Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part 
By our revolt, but over hell extend 
His empire, and with iron scepter rule 
Us here, as with his gulden those in heaven. 
What sit we then projecting peace and war? 
War hath determined us, and foiled with 
loss 330 

Irreparable; terms of peace yet none 
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will 

be given 
To us enslaved but custody severe, 
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment 
Inflicted? and what peace can we return, 33S 
But to our power hostility and hate. 
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though 

slow, 
Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least 
May reap his conquest, and may least re- 
joice 339 



In doing what we most in suffering feel? 
Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need 
With dangerous expedition to invade 
Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault 

or siege, 
Or ambush from the deep. What if we 

find 
Some easier enterprise? There is a place 
(If ancient and prophetic fame in heaven 346 
Err not), another world, the happy seat 
Of some new race, called Man, about this 

time 
To be created like to us, though less 
In power and excellence, but favored more 
Of him who rules above; so was his will 3Si 
Pronounced among the gods ; and by an 

oath 
That shook heaven's whole circumference 

confirmed. 
Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to 

learn 

What creatures there inhabit, of what mold 

Or substance, how endued, and what their 

power, 356 

And where their weakness, how attempted 

best. 
By force or subtlety. Though heaven b^ 

shut. 
And heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure 
In his own strength, this place may lie ex- 
posed, 360 
The utmost border of his kingdom, left 
To their defense who hold it; here per- 
haps 
Some advantageous act may be achieved 
By sudden onset ; either with hell-fire 
To waste his whole creation, or possess 36s 
All as our own, and drive, as we were 

driven. 
The puny habitants ; or, if not drive, 
Seduce them to our party, that their God 
May prove their foe, and with repenting 

hand 
Abolish his own works. This would sur- 
pass 370 
Common revenge, and interrupt his joy 
In our confusion, and our joy upraise 
In his disturbance, when his darling sons. 
Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall 

curse 
Their frail original and faded bliss, 375 
Faded so soon. Advise, if this be worth 
Attempting, or to sit in darkness here 
Hatching vain empires.' Thus Beelzebub 
Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devised 
By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence 
But from the author of all ill could spring 



PARADISE LOST 



259 



So deep a malice, to confound the race 382 
Of mankind in one root, and eartli with 

hell 
To mingle and involve, done all to spite 
The great Creator? But their spite still 

serves 385 

His glory to augment. The bold design 
Pleased highly those infernal states, and 

joy 
Sparkled in all their eyes : with full assent 
They vote : whereat his speech he thus re- 
news : — 
* Well have ye judged, well ended long 

debate, 39o 

Synod of gods, and, like to what ye are. 
Great things resolved, which from the 

lowest deep 
Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate, 
Nearer our ancient seat : perhaps in view 
Of those bright confines, whence, with 

neighboring arms, 395 

And opportune excursion, we may chance 
Re-enter heaven ; or else in some mild zone 
Dwell, not unvisited of heaven's fair light, 
Secure ; and at the brightening orient beam 
Purge off this gloom ; the soft delicious air, 
To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, 401 
Shall breathe her balm. But first, whom 

shall we send 
In search of this new world? whom shall 

we find 
Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering 

feet 
The dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss, 40S 
And through the palpable obscure find out 
His imcouth way, or spread his aery flight, 
Upborne with indefatigable wings, 
Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive 
The happy isle? What strength, what art, 

can then 410 

Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe 
Through the strict senteries and stations 

thick 
Of angels watching round? Here he had 

need 
All circumspection, and we now no less 
Choice in our suffrage ; for, on whom we 

send, 415 

The weight of all, and our last hope relies.' 

This said, he sat ; and expectation held 
His look suspense, awaiting who appeared 
To second, or oppose, or undertake 
The perilous attempt : but all sat mute, 420 
Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; 

and each 
In other's countenance read his own dismay, 
Astonished: none among the choice and 

prime 



Of those heaven-warring champions could 

be found 
So hardy as to proffer or accept, 425 

Alone, the dreadful voyage; till at last 
Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised 
Above his fellows, with monarchal pride, 
Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus 

spake : — ■ 
' O progeny of heaven ! empyreal thrones ! 
With reason hath deep silence and demur 
Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the 

way 432 

And hard, that out of hell leads up to 

light; 
Our prison strong; this huge convex of fire, 
Outrageous to devour, immures us round 
Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant. 
Barred over us, prohibit all egress. 437 

These passed, if any pass, the void profound 
Of unessential night receives him next, 
Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being 
Threatens him plunged in that abortive 

gulf. 441 

If thence he 'scape into whatever world 
Or unknown region, what remains him less 
Than unknown dangers and as hard escape? 
But I should ill become this throne, O peers. 
And this imperial sovereignty, adorned 446 
With splendor, armed with power, if aught 

proposed 
And judged of public moment, in the shape 
Of difficulty or danger, could deter 
Me from attempting. Wherefore do I 

assume 4So 

These royalties, and not refuse to reign, 
Refusing to accept as great a share 
Of hazard as of honor, due alike 
To him who reigns, and so much to him due 
Of hazard more, as he above the rest 4SS 
High honored sits? Go, therefore, mighty 

powers. 
Terror of heaven, though fallen; Intend at 

home 
(While here shall be our home) what best 

may ease 
The present misery, and render hell 
More tolerable; if there be cure or charm 
To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain 4<5i 
Of this ill mansion ; intermit no watch 
Against a wakeful foe, while I abroad 
Through all the coasts of dark destruction 

seek 
Deliverance for us all : this enterprise 465 
None shall partake with me.' Thus saying, 

rose 
The monarch, and prevented all reply; 
Prudent, lest from his resolution raised 
Others among the chief might offer now 



26o 



JOHN MILTON 



(Certain to be refused) what erst they 

feared ; 47o 

And, so refused, might in opinion stand 
His rivals ; winning cheap the high repute 
Which he through hazard huge must earn. 

But they 
Dreaded not more the adventure than his 

voice 
Forbidding ; and at once with him they rose. 
Their rising all at once was as the sound 
Of thunder heard remote. Towards him 

they bend '^''^ 

With awful reverence prone ; and as a god 
Extol him equal to the Highest in heaven. 
Nor failed they to express how much they 

praised 480 

That for the general safety he despised 
His own : for neither do the spirits damned 
Lose all their virtue; lest bad men should 

boast 
Their specious deeds on earth, which glory 

excites 484 

Or close ambition varnished o'er with zeal. 

Thus they their doubtful consultations 

dark 
Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief. 
As when from mountain-tops the dusky 

clouds 
Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, 

o'erspread 
Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element 
Scowls o'er the darkened landscape snow or 

shower; 49i 

H chance the radiant sun, with farewell 

sweet. 
Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 
The birds their notes renew, and bleating 

herds 494 

Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. 
O shame to men! devil with devil damned 
Firm concord holds, men only disagree 
Of creatures rational, though under hope 
Of heavenly grace; and, God proclaiming 

peace. 
Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife soo 
Among themselves, and levy cruel wars. 
Wasting the earth, each other to destroy : 
As if (which might induce us to accord) 
Man had not hellish foes enough besides. 
That day and night for his destruction wait. 
* * * (1667) 

From AREOPAGITICA 
a speech for the liberty of unli- 
censed printing to the parliament 
of england 

Lords and Commons of England, con- 
sider what nation it is whereof ye are, 



and whereof ye are the governors : a 
nation not slow and dull, but of a quick, 
ingenious, and piercing spirit, acute to 
invent, subtle and sinewy to discourse, 
not beneath the reach of any point the 
highest that human capacity can soar to. 
Therefore the studies of learning in her 
deepest sciences have been so ancient and 
so eminent among us, that writers of good 
antiquity and ablest judgment have been 
persuaded that even the school of Pythag- 
oras and the Persian wisdom took be- 
ginning from the old philosophy of this 
island. And that wise and civil Ro- 
man, Jtilius Agricola, who governed 
once here for Csesar, preferred the nat- 
ural wits of Britain, before the labored 
studies of the French. Nor is it for 
nothing that the grave and frugal Tran- 
sylvanian sends out yearly from as far 
as the mountainous borders of Russia, 
and beyond the Hercynian wilderness, 
not their youth, but their staid men, to 
learn our language, and our theologic 
arts. Yet that which is above all this, 
the favor and the love of Heaven we 
have great argument to think in a pecul- 
iar manner propitious and propending 
towards us. Why else was this nation 
chosen before any other, that out of her 
as out of Sion should be proclaimed and 
sounded forth the first tidings and trum- 
pet of Reformation to all Europe? And 
had it not been the obstinate perverse- 
ness of our prelates against the divine 
and admirable spirit of Wyclif, to sup- 
press him as a schismatic and innovator, 
perhaps neither the Bohemian Huss and 
Jerome, no, nor the name of Luther, or 
of Calvin had been ever known: the 
glory of reforming all our neighbors 
had been completely ours. But now, as 
our obdurate clergy have with violence 
demeaned the matter, we are become 
hitherto the latest and the backwardest 
scholars, of whom God offered to have 
made us the teachers. Now once again 
by all concurrence of signs, and by the 
general instinct of holy and devout men, 
as they daily and solemnly express their 
thoughts, God is decreeing to begin some 
new and great period in his church, even 
to the reforming of Reformation itself: 
what does he then but reveal himself. to 
his servants, and as his manner is, first 
to his Englishmen; I say as his manner 
is, first to us, though we mark not the 
method of his counsels, and are un- 



AREOPAGITICA 261 



worthy. Behold now this vast city: a not despair the greatest design that 
city of refuge, the mansion house of lib- could be attempted to make a church or 
arty, encompassed and surrounded with kingdom happy. Yet these are the men 
his protection. The shop of war hath cried out against for schismatics and 
not there more anvils and hammers wak- 5 sectaries; as if, while the temple of the 
ing, to fashion out the plates and in- Lord was building, some cutting, some 
struments of armed justice in defense squaring the marble, others hewing the 
of beleaguered truth, than there be pens cedars, there should be a sort of irra- 
and heads there, sitting by their stu- tional men who would not consider there 
dious lamps, musing, searching, revolving 10 must be many schisms and many dis- 
new notions and ideas wherewith to sections made in the quarry and in the 
present, as with their homage and their timber, ere the house of God can be 
fealty, the approaching Reformation; built. And when every stone is laid 
others as fast reading, trying all things, artfully together, it cannot be united into 
assenting to the force of reason and con- 15 a continuity, it can but be contiguous 
vincement. What could a man require in this world; neither can every piece 
more from a nation so pliant and so of the building be of one form; nay, 
prone to seek after knowledge? What rather the perfection consists in this, 
wants there to such a towardly and that out of many moderate varieties and 
pregnant soil, but wise and faithful la- 20 brotherly dissimilitudes that are not 
borers, to make a knowing people, a vastly disproportional, arises the goodly 
nation of prophets, of sages, and of and the graceful symmetry that com- 
worthies? We reckon more than five mends the whole pile and structure. Let 
months yet to harvest; there need not us therefore be more considerate build- 
be five weeks; had we but eyes to lift 25 ers, more wise in spiritual architecture, 
up, the fields are white already. Where when great reformation is expected, 
there is much desire to learn, there of For now the time seems come, wherein 
necessity will be much arguing, much Moses the great prophet may sit in 
writing, many opinions; for opinion in heaven rejoicing to see that memorable 
good men is but knowledge in the mak- 30 and glorious wish of his fulfilled, when 
ing. Under these fantastic terrors of not only our seventy elders, but all the 
sect and schism, we wrong the earnest Lord's people, are become prophets, 
and zealous thirst after knowledge and No marvel then though some men, and 
understanding which God hath stirred some good men too, perhaps, but young 
up in this city. What some lament of, 35 in goodness, as Joshua then was, envy 
we rather should rejoice at, should them. They fret, and out of their own 
rather praise this pious forwardness weakness are in agony, lest those divi- 
among men, to reassume the ill-deputed sions and subdivisions will undo us. 
care of their religion into their own The adversary again applauds, and waits 
hands again. A little generous pru- 40 the hour, when they have branched 
dence, a little forbearance of one an- themselves out (saith he) small enough 
other, and some grain of charity might into parties and partitions, then will be 
win all these diligences to join, and our time. Fool ! he sees not the firm 
unite in one general and brotherly root, out of which we all grow, though 
search after truth, could we but forego 45 into branches; nor will beware until he 
this prelatical tradition of crowding free see our small divided maniples cutting 
consciences and christian liberties into through at every angle of his ill-united 
canons and precepts of men. I doubt and unwieldy brigade. And that we are 
not, if some great and worthy stranger to hope better of all these supposed 
should come among us, wise to discern 50 sects and schisms, and that we shall not 
the mold and temper of a people, and need that solicitude (honest perhaps 
how to govern it, observing the high though over-timorous) of them that vex 
hopes and aims, the diligent alacrity of in this behalf, but shall laugh in the 
our extended thoughts and reasonings in end, at those malicious applauders of 
the pursuance of truth and freedom, but 55 our differences, I have these reasons to 
that he would cry out as Pyrrhus did, persuade me. 

admiring the Roman docility and cour- First, when a city shall be as it were 

age. If such were my Epirots, I would besieged and blocked about, her navig- 



262 JOHN MILTON 



able river infested, inroads and incur- envious gabble would prognosticate a year 
sions round, defiance axid battle oft ru- of sects and schisms, 
mored to be marching up even to her What should ye do then, should ye sup- 

walls and suburb trenches, that then the press all this flowery crop of knowledge 
people, or the greater part, more than 5 and new light sprung up and yet spring- 
at other times, wholly taken up with the ing daily in this city, should ye set an 
study of highest and most important oligarchy of twenty engrossers over it, 
matters to be reformed, should be dis- to bring a famine upon our minds again, 
puting, reasoning, reading, inventing, when we shall know nothing but what is 
discoursing, even to a rarity and admir- lo measured to us by their bushel ? Believe 
ation, things not before discoursed or it, Lords and Commons, they who counsel 
written of, argues first a singular good- ye to such a suppressing, do as good as 
will, contentedness and confidence in bid ye suppress yourselves ;_ and I will 
your prudent foresight, and safe govern- soon show how. If it be desired to know 
ment. Lords and Commons ; and from i5 the immediate cause of all this free writ- 
thence derives itself to a gallant bravery ing and free speaking, there cannot be 
and well grounded contempt of their assigned a truer than your own mild, and 
enemies, as if there were no small free, and humane government; it is the 
number 'of as great spirits among us, as liberty. Lords and Commons, which your 
his was, who when Rome was nigh be- 20 own valorous and happy counsels have 
sieged by Hannibal, being in the city, purchased us, liberty which is the nurse 
bought that piece of ground at no cheap of all great wits. This is that which hath 
rate, whereon Hannibal himself en- rarefied and enlightened our spirits like 
camped his own regiment. Next, it is the influence of heaven ; this is that which 
a lively and cheerful presage of our ^5 hath enfranchised, enlarged, and lifted 
happy success and victory. For as in up our apprehensions degrees above them- 
a body, when the blood is fresh, the selves. Ye cannot make us now less ca- 
spirits pure and vigorous, not only to pable, less knowing, less eagerly pursuing 
vital, but to rational faculties, and those of the truth, unless ye first make your- 
in the acutest and the pertest operations 3° selves, that made us so, less the lovers, 
of wit and subtlety, it argues in what less the founders of our true liberty. We 
-ood plight and constitution the body can grow ignorant again, brutish, f or- 
is, so when the cheerfulness of the peo- mal, and slavish, as ye found us; but you 
pie is so sprightly up, as that it has, not then must first become that which ye can- 
only wherewith to guard well its own 35 not be, oppressive, arbitrary, and tyran- 
freedom and safety, but to spare, and to nous, as they were from whom ye have 
bestow upon the solidest and sublimest freed us. That our hearts are now more 
points of controversy and new invention, capacious, our thoughts more erected to 
it betokens us not degenerated, nor droop- the search and expectation of greatest 
ing to a fatal decay, but casting off the 40 and exactest things, is the issue of your 
old and wrinkled skin of corruption to own virtue propagated in us; ye cannot 
outlive these pangs and wax young again, suppress that unless ye reinforce an abro- 
entering the glorious ways of truth and gated and merciless law, that fathers may 
prosperous virtue destined to become despatch at will their own children. And 
great and honorable in these latter ages. 45 who shall then stick closest to ye, and 
Methinks I see in my mind a noble and excite others? not he who takes up arms 
puissant nation, rousing herself like a for coat and conduct, and his four nobles 
strong man after sleep, and shaking her of danegelt. Although I dispraise not 
invincible locks. Methinks I see her as the defense of just immunities, yet love 
an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and 5° my peace better, if that were all. Give 
kindling her undazzled eyes at the full me the liberty to know, to utter, and to 
midday beam; purging and unsealing her argue freely according to conscience, 
long-abused sight at the fountain itself of above all liberties. 

heavenly radiance; while the whole noise What would be best advised, then, if 

of timorous and flocking birds, with those 55 it be found so hurtful and so unequal to 
also that love the twilight, flutter about, suppress opinions for the newness, or the 
amazed at what she means, and in their unsuitableness to a customary acceptance. 



AREOPAGITICA 263 



will not be my task to say. I only shall dom as for hidden treasures early and 
repeat what I have learned from one of late, that another order shall enjoin us to 
your own honorable number, a right no- know nothing but by statute? When a 
ble and pious lord, who, had he not sacri- man hath been laboring the hardest labor 
ficed his life and fortunes to the church 5 in the deep mines of knov/ledge, hath fur- 
and commonwealth, we had not now nished out his findings in all their equi- 
missed and bewailed a worthy and un- page, drawn forth his reasons as it were 
doubted patron of this argument. Ye a battle ranged, scattered and defeated all 
know him I am sure; yet I for honor's objections in his way, calls out his adver- 
sake, and may it be eternal to him, shall 10 sary into the plain, offers him the ad- 
name him the Lord Brook. He writing vantage of wind and sun, if he please, 
of episcopacy and by the way treating of only that, he may try the matter by dint 
sects and schisms, left ye his vote, or of argument — for his opponents then 
rather now the last words of his dying to skulk, to lay ambushments, to keep a 
charge, which I know will ever be of 15 narrow bridge of licensing where the 
dear and honored regard with ye, so full challenger should pass, though it be valor 
of meekness and breathing charity, that enough in soldiership, is but weakness and 
next to his last testament, who bequeathed cowardice in the wars of Truth. For 
love and peace to his disciples, I cannot who knows not that Truth is strong, next 
call to mind where I have read or heard 20 to the Almighty; she needs no policies, no 
words more mild and peaceful. He there stratagems, no licensings to make her vic- 
exhorts us to hear with patience and hu- torious ; those are the shifts and the de- 
mility those, however they be miscalled, fenses that error uses against her power: 
that desire to live purely, in such a use of give her but room, and do not bind her 
God's ordinances, as the best guidance of 25 when she sleeps, for then she speaks not 
their conscience gives them, and to toler- true, as the old Proteus did, who spake 
ate them, though in some disconformity oracles only when he was caught and 
to ourselves. The book itself will tell us bound, but then rather she turns herself 
more at large, being published to the into all shapes, except her own, and per- 
world, and dedicated to the Parliament 30 haps tunes her voice according to the 
by him who both for his life and for his time, as Micaiah did before Ahab, until 
death deserves that what advice he left she be adjured into her own likeness, 
be not laid by without perusal. Yet it is not impossible that she may have 

And now the time in special is, by priv- more shapes than one. What else is all 
ilege to write and speak what may help 35 that rank of things indifferent, wherein 
to the further discussing of matters in Truth may be on this side, or on the 
agitation. The temple of Janus with his other, without being unlike herself? 
two controversal faces might now not un- What but a vain shadow else is the aboli- 
signiiicantly be set open. And though all tion of those ordinances, that hand-writ- 
the winds of doctrine were let loose to 40 ing nailed to the cross, what great pur- 
play upon the earth, so Truth be in the chase is this christian liberty which Paul 
field, we do injuriously by licensing and so often boasts of? His doctrine is, that 
prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let he who eats or eats not, regards a day or 
her and Falsehood grapple ; who ever regards it not, may do either to the Lord, 
knew Truth put to the worse, in a free 45 How many other things might be toler- 
and open encounter? Her confuting is ated in peace, and left to conscience, had 
the best and surest suppressing. He who we but charity, and were it not the chief 
hears what praying there is for light and stronghold of our hypocrisy to be ever 
clearer knowledge to be sent down among judging one another. I fear yet this iron 
us,- would think of other matters to be 50 yoke of outward conformity hath left a 
constituted beyond the discipline of Ge- slavish print upon our necks ; the ghost 
neva, framed and fabricked already to our of a linen decency yet haunts us. We 
hands. Yet when the new light which stumble and are impatient at the least 
we beg for shines in upon us, there be dividing of one visible congregation from 
who envy and oppose, if it come not first 55 another, though it be not in fundamentals; 
in at their casements. What a collusion and through our forwardness to suppress, 
is this, whenas we are exhorted by the and our backwardness to recover any en- 
wise man to use diligence, to seek for wis- thralled piece of truth out of the grip 



264 JOHN MILTON 



of custom, we care not to keep truth but whom they like, is the worst and 
separated from truth, which is the fiercest newest opinion of all others ; and is the 
rent and disunion of all. We do not see chief cause why sects and schisms do so 
that while we still affect by all means much abound, and true knowledge is 
a rigid external formality, we may as 5 kept at distance from us ; besides yet a 
soon fall again into a gross conforming greater danger which is in it. For when 
stupidity, a stark and dead congealment God shakes a kingdom with strong and 
of wood, and hay, and stubble forced and healthful commotions to a general re- 
frozen together, which is more to the forming, 't is not untrue that many 
sudden degenerating of a church than ^° sectaries and false teachers are then 
many subdichotomies of petty schisms, busiest in seducing; but yet more true 
Not that I can think well of every light it is, that God then raises to his own 
separation, or that all in a church is to work men of rare abilities, and more 
be expected gold and silver and precious than common industry, not only to look 
stones. It is not possible for man to ^5 back and revise what hath been taught 
sever the wheat from the tares, the good heretofore, but to gain further and go on, 
fish from the other fry; that must be the some new enlightened steps in the dis- 
angels' ministry at the end of mortal covery of truth. For such is the order 
things. Yet if all cannot be of one mind, of God's enlightening his church, to dis- 
(as who looks they should be?) this^opense and deal out by degrees his beam, 
doubtless is more wholesome, more pru- so as our earthly eyes may best sustain 
dent, and more christian that many be it. Neither is God appointed and con- 
tolerated, rather than all compelled. I fined, where and out of what place these 
mean not tolerated popery, and open his chosen shall be first heard to speak; 
superstition, which, as it extirpates all ^5 for he sees not as man sees, chooses not 
religions and civil supremacies, so itself as man chooses, lest we should devote 
should be extirpate, provided first that all ourselves again to set places, and assem- 
charitable and compassionate means be blies, and outward callings of men ; plant- 
used to win and regain the weak and the ing our faith one while in the old 
misled : that also which is impious or evil 3o Convocation House, and another while in 
absolutely either against faith or man- the Chapel at Westminster; when all the 
ners, no law can possibly permit that in- faith and religion that shall be there 
tends not to unlaw itself. But those canonized, is not sufficient without plain 
neighboring differences, or rather in- convincement, and the charity of patient 
differences, are what I speak of, whether 35 instruction to supple the least bruise of 
in some point of doctrine or of dis- conscience, to edify the meanest chris- 
cipline, which though they may be many, tian, who desires to walk in the Spirit, 
yet need not interrupt the unity of Spirit, and not in the letter of human trust, for 
if we could but find among us the bond all the number of voices that can be there 
of peace. In the meanwhile if any one 40 made — no, though Harry VII himself 
would write, and bring his helpful hand there, with all his liege tombs about him, 
to the slow-moving reformation which we should lend them voices from the dead, 
labor under, if Truth have spoken to him to swell their number. And if the men 
before others, or but seemed at least to be erroneous who appear to be the lead- 
speak, who hath so bejesuited us that we 45 ing schismatics, what withholds us but 
should trouble that man with asking our sloth, our self-will, and distrust in 
license to do so worthy a deed? and not the right cause, that we do not give them 
consider this, that if it come to prohibit- gentle meetings and gentle dismissions, 
ing, there is not aught more likely to be that ' we debate not and examine the 
prohibited than truth itself ; whose first So matter thoroughly with liberal and fre- 
appearance to our eyes bleared and quent audience; if not for their sakes, 
dimmed with prejudice and custom, is yet for our own? Seeing no man who 
more unsightly and unplausible than hath tasted learning, but will confess the 
many 'errors, even as the person is of many ways of profiting by those who, not 
many a great man slight and contemptible 55 contented with stale receipts, are able to 
to see to. And what do they tell us manage and set forth new positions to the 
vainly of new opinions, when this very world. And were they but. as the dust 
opinion of theirs, that none must be heard and cinders of our feet, so long as in that 



AREOPAGITICA 265 



notion they may yet serve to polish and and the executioner will be the timeliest 

brighten the armory of Truth, even for and the most effectual remedy, that man's 

that respect they were not utterly to be prevention can use. For this authentic 

cast away. But if they be of those whom Spanish policy of licensing books, if I 

God hath fitted for the special use of 5 have said alight, will prove the most un- 

these times with eminent and ample licensed book itself within a short while; 

gifts, and those perhaps neither among and was the immediate image of a Star 

the Priests, nor among the Pharisees, Chamber decree to that purpose made in 

and we in the haste of a precipitant zeal those very times when that court did the 

shall make no distinction, but resolve to 10 rest of those her pious works, for which 

stop their mouths, because we fear they she is now fallen from the stars with 

come with new and dangerous opinions, Lucifer. Whereby ye may guess what 

as we commonly forejudge them ere we kind of state prudence, what love of the 

understand them, no less than woe to us, people, what care of religion or good 

while thinking thus to defend the Gospel, 15 manners there was at the contriving, al- 

we are found the persecutors. though with singular hypocrisy it pre- 

There have been not a few since the tended to bind books to their good 

beginning of this Parliament, both of the behavior. And how it got the upper 

Presbytery and others, who by their un- hand of your precedent order, so well 

licensed books to the contempt of an Im- 20 constituted before, if we may believe 

primatur first broke that triple ice clung those men whose profession gives them 

about our hearts, and taught the people cause to inquire most, it may be doubted 

to see day. I hope that none of those there was in it the fraud of some old 

were the persuaders to renew upon us patentees and monopolizers in the trade 

this bondage which they themselves havezS of bookselling; who under pretense of the 

wrought so much good by contemning, poor in their Company not to be de- 

But if neither the check that Moses gave frauded, and the just retaining of each 

to young Joshua, nor the countermand man his several copy (which God forbid 

which our Savior gave to young John, should be gainsaid), brought divers gloss- 

who was so ready to prohibit those whom 3° ing colors to the House ; which were in- 

he thought unlicensed, be not enough to deed but colors, and serving to no end 

admonish our Elders, how unacceptable except it be to exercise a superiority 

to God their testy mood of prohibiting over their neighbors, men who do not 

is; if neither their own remembrance therefore labor in an honest profession 

what evil hath abounded in the Church 35 to which learning is indebted, that they 

by this let of licensing, and what good should be made other men's vassals. 

they themselves have begun by trans- Another end is thought was aimed at by 

gressing it, be not enough, but that they some of them in procuring by petition 

will persuade, and execute the most this order, that having power in their 

Dominican part of the Inquisition over 4° hands, malignant books might the easier 

us, and are already with one foot in the 'scape abroad, as the event shows. But 

stirrup so active at suppressing, it would of these sophisms and elenchs of mer- 

be no unequal distribution in the first chandise I skill not. This I know, that 

place to suppress the suppressors them- errors in a good government and in a 

selves : whom the change of their con- 45 bad are equally almost incident ; for what 

dition hath puffed up, more than their magistrate may not be misinformed, and 

late experience of harder times hath much the sooner, if liberty of printing 

made wise. be reduced into the power of a few; but 

And as for regulating the Press, let no to redress willingly and speedily what 

man think to have the honor of advising 5° hath been erred, and in highest authority 

ye better than yourselves have done in to esteem a plain advertisement more 

that order published next before this, than others have done a sumptuous bribe, 

' that no book be printed, unless the is a virtue (honored Lords and Commons) 

printer's and the author's name, or at answerable to your highest actions, and 

least the printer's be registered.' Those 55 whereof none can participate but greatest 

which otherwise come forth, if they be and wisest men. 

found mischievous and libelous, the fire (1644) 



'■MA, - '^ 





\ 



JOHN DRYDEN (i63i-i70< 



Dryden came of a good Northamptonshire family, and was educated at Westminster School 
and Trinity College, Cambridge. He was only eighteen when his first verses were published, 
but his first poem of importance was in commemoration of the death of Oliver Cromwell. 
Dryden's dependence as a professional writer on the party in power made his financial position 
insecure, hampered his genius, and ruined his reputation for consistency: his eulogy of Crom- 
well was followed almost immediately by poems in celebration of Charles II. The re- 
opening of the theaters after the Restoration gave him a less equivocal opportunity for the 
exercise of his talents, and he led the way in the development of the new comedy (largely 
indebted to the French) and the heroic play with its preposterous characters and incidents 
and extravagant rant. After defending and perfecting the rimed couplet as a medium for 
tragedy, he turned to blank verse in All for Love (1678), founded upon Shakspere's Antony 
and Cleopatra, and generally accounted Dryden's best play. Meanwhile he had won distinc- 
tion in other ways; hisJSs^ai/ of Dramatic Poesy (1GG8) is remarkable both for its literary 
insight and its vigorous and lucid style, which had an important influence on the development 
of English prose. In 1G70 he was appointed poet laureate and historiographer with a salary 
of £200, which relieved his immediate necessities, but was not enough to save him from 
financial difficulties. The political intrigues at the end of Charles H's reign gave occasion 
for the bitter satirical poem Absalom and Achiiophel (1081) which in its own kind of poetry 
remains unsurpassed. Religio Laid (1082), a poem in defense of the Church of England, 
was discounted by the author's conversion to Roman Catholicism on the accession of James 
II, though most students of Dryden's life and writings hold that his change of view was 
sincere. The Hind and the Panther, a plea for the poet's newly adopted faith, appeared in 
1087. The Revolution of 1688 deprived Dryden of his oflTices, and he was dependent for the 
rest of his life upon his pen. He returned to the stage with Don Sebastian (1690), one of his 
best tragedies, wrote excellent prologues and epilogues for the plays of other men, and worked 
hard at criticism and translations. After enjoying for many years the literary leadership of 
his time, he was buried in the Poets' Comer at Westminster Abbey. 



HEROIC STANZAS, 

CONSECRATED TO THE MEMORY 
OF HIS HIGHNESS OLIVER 

LATE LORD PROTECTOR OF THIS COMMON- 
WEALTH &C. 

Written after the celebrating of his funeral 

And now 't is time ; for their officious haste 
Who would before have borne him to the 
sky, 

Like eager Romans ere all rites were past, 
Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly. 

Though' our best notes are treason to his 

fame 5 

Joined with the loud applause of public 

voice, 

Since Heaven what praise we offer to his 

name 

Hath rendered too authentic by its choice; 



Though in his praise no arts can liberal be, 

Since they, whose muses have the highest 

flown, 10 

Add not to. his immortal memory. 

But do an act of friendship to their own ; 

Yet 't is our duty and our interest too 
Such Inonuments as we can build to raise. 

Lest all the world prevent what we should 
do IS 

And claim a title in him by their praise. 

How shall I then begin or where conclude 
To draw a fame so truly circular? 

For in a round what order can be shewed. 
Where all the parts so equal-perfect 
are? 20 

His grandeur he derived from Heaven 
alone, 
For he was great, ere Fortune made him 
so; 



266 



ASTR^A REDUX 



267 



And wars, like mistg that rise against the 
sun, 
Made him but greater seem, not greater 
grow. 

No borrowed bays his temples did adorn, 23 

But to our crown he did fresh jewels 

bring; 

Nor was his virtue poisoned, soon as born. 

With the too early thoughts of being 

king. 

Fortune, that easy mistress of the young, 

But to her ancient servants coy and hard, 
Him at that age her favorites ranked 
among . 31 

When she her best-loved Pompey did dis- 
card. 

He, private, marked the faults of others' 
sway 
And set as sea-marks for himself to 
shun ; 
Not like rash monarchs, who their youth 
betray 3S 

By acts their age too late would wish un- 
done. 

And yet dominion was not his design ; 
We owe that blessing not to him but 
Heaven, 
Which to fair acts unsought rewards did 
join, 
Rewards that less to him than us were 
given. 40 

Our former chiefs, like sticklers of the war, 

First sought to inflame the parties, then 

to poise, 

The quarrel loved, but did the cause abhor, 

And did not strike to hurt, but make a 

noise. 

War, our consumption, was their gainful 

trade; 4S 

We inward bled, whilst they prolonged 

our pain ; 

He fought to end our fighting, and assayed 

To stanch the blood by breathing of the 

vein. 

Nor died he when his ebbing fame v/ent 
less. 
But when fresh laurels courted him to 
live ; 50 

He seemed but to prevent some new suc- 
cess, 



As if above what triumphs earth could 
give. 

His latest victories still thickest came, 
As near the center motion does increase ; 

Till he, pressed down by his own weighty 

name, 55 

Did, like the vestal, under spoils decease. 

But first the ocean as a tribute sent 
That giant-prince of all her watery herd; 

And the isle, when her protecting genius 
, went, 59 

Upon his obsequies loud sighs conferred. 

No civil broils have since his death arose. 
But faction now by habit does obey ; 

And wars have that respect for his repose 
As winds for halcyons when they breed 
at sea. 

His ashes in a peaceful urn shall rest; 65 
His name a great example stands to show 
How strangely high endeavors may be 
blessed 
Where piety and valor jointly go. 

(1659) 



From ASTR^A REDUX 

And welcome now, great monarch, to 
your own ! 
Behold the approaching cliffs of Albion. 
It is no longer motion cheats your view ; 
As you meet it, the land approacheth you. 
The land returns, and in the white it wears 
The marks of penitence and sorrow bears. 6 
But you, whose goodness your descent doth 

show. 
Your heavenly parentage and earthly too. 
By that same mildness which your father's 

crown 
Before did ravish shall secure your own. 10 
Not tied to rules of policy, you find 
Revenge less sweet than a forgiving mind. 
Thus, when the Ahnighty would to Moses 

give 
A sight of all he could behold and live, 
A voice before his entry did proclaim 15 ■ 
Long-suffering, goodness, mercy, in his 

name. 
Your power to justice doth submit your 

cause, 
Your gooclness only is above the laws. 
Whose rigid letter, while pronounced by 

you, 



268 



JOHN DRYDEN 



Is softer made. So winds that tempests 

brew, ^° 

WIfen through Arabian groves they take 

their flight, 
Made wanton with rich odors, lose their 

spite. 
And as those lees that trouble it refine 
The agitated soul of generous wine, _ 
So tears of joy, for your returning spilt, 25 
Work out and expiate our former guilt. 
Methinks I see those crowds on Dover's 

strand, 
Who in their haste to welcome you to land 
Choked up the beach with their still grow- 
ing store 
And made a wilder torrent on the shore: 30 
While, spurred with eager thoughts of past 

delight. 
Those who had seen you, court a second 

sight. 
Preventing still your steps and makmg 

haste 
To meet you often wheresoe'er you past. 
How shall I speak of that triumphant 
day, 35 

When you renewed the expiring pomp of 

May! 
A month that owns an interest in your 

name ; 
You and the flowers are its peculiar claim. 
That star, that at your birth shone out so 

bright 
It stained the duller sun's meridian light, 4° 
Did once again its potent fires renew, 
Guiding our eyes to find and worship you. 

And now Time's whiter series is begun. 
Which in soft centuries shall smoothly run; 
Those clouds that overcast your morn shall 
fly, 45 

Dispelled to farthest corners of the sky. 
Our nation, with united interest blest. 
Not now content to poise, shall sway the 

rest. 
Abroad your empire shall no limits know, 
But, like the sea, in boundless circles flow; 
Your much-loved fleet shall with a wide 
command si 

Besiege the petty monarchs of the land ; 
And as old Time his offspring swallowed 

down, 

Our ocean in its depths all seas shall drown. 

Their wealthy trade from pirates' rapine 

free, 55 

Our merchants shall no more adventurers 

be; 
Nor in the farthest Fast those dangers fear 
Which humble Holland must dissemble 
here. 



Spain to your gift alone her Indies owes. 
For what the powerful takes not he be- 
stows ; 60 
And France that did an exile's presence 

fear 
May justly apprehend you still too near. 
At home the hateful names of parties cease. 
And factious souls are wearied into peace. 
The discontented now are only they 65 

Whose crimes before did your just cause 

betray ; 
Of those your edicts some reclaim from 

sins. 
But most your life and blest example wins. 
Oh, happy prince, whom Heaven hath taught 

the way 
By paying vows to have more vows to pay! 
Oh, happy age! oh, times like those alone 71 
By fate reserved for great Augustus' 

throne. 
When the joint growth of arms and arts 

foreshew 
The world a monarch, and that monarch 

you! 

(1660) 



From ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL 

The inhabitants of old Jerusalem 
Were Jebusites ; the town so called from 

them. 
And theirs the native right. 
But when the chosen people grew more 

strong, 
The rightful cause at length became the 
wrong ; s 

And every loss the men of Jebus bore. 
They still were thought God's enemies the 

more. 
Thus worn and weakened, well or ill con- 
tent. 
Submit they must to David's government: 
Impoverished and deprived of all com- 
mand, ^° 
Their taxes doubled as they lost their land; 
And, what was harder yet to flesh and 

blood. 
Their gods disgraced, and burnt like com- 
mon wood. 
This set the heathen priesthood in a flame. 
For priests of all religions are the same. '5 
Of whatsoe'er descent their godhead be, 
Stock, stone, or other homely pedigree, 
In his defense his servants are as bold, 
As if he had been born of beaten gold. 
The Jewish rabbins, though their enemies, 20 
In this conclude them honest men and wise 



ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL 



269 



For 't was their duty, all the learned think, 
To espouse his cause by whom they eat and 

drink. 
From hence began that Plot, the nation's 

curse, 
Bad in itself, but represented worse, 25 

Raised in extremes, and in extremes de- 
cried, 
With oaths affirmed, with dying vows de- 
nied. 
Not weighed or winnowed by the multitude. 
But swallowed in the" mass, unchewed and 

crude. 
Some truth there - was, but dashed and 
brewed with lies 3° 

To please the fools and puzzle all the wise : 
Succeeding times did equal folly call, 
Believing nothing or believing all. 
The Egyptian rites the Jebusites embraced. 
Where gods were recommended by their 
taste; 3S 

Such savory deities must needs be good 
As served at once for worship and for food. 
By force they could not introduce these 

gods, 
For ten to one in former days was odds : 
So fraud was used, the sacrificer's trade ; 40 
Fools are more hard to conquer than per- 
suade. 
Their busy teachers mingled with the Jews 
And raked for converts even the court and 

stews : 
Which Hebrew priests the more unkindly 

took. 
Because the fleece accompanies the flock. 4S 
Some thought they God's anointed meant to 

slay 
By guns, invented since full many a day: 
Our author swears it not; but who can 

know 
How far the devil and Jebusites may go? 
This plot, which failed for want of common 
sense, so 

Had yet a deep and dangerous consequence; 
For as, when raging fevers boil the blood. 
The standing lake soon floats into a flood, 
And every hostile humor which before 
Slept quiet in its channels bubbles o'er ; 55 
So several factions from this first ferment 
Work up to foam and threat the govern- 
ment. 
Some by their friends, more by themselves 

thought wise. 
Opposed the power to which they could not 

rise. 
Some had in courts been great, and thrown 
from thence, 60 

Like fiends were hardened in impenitence. 



Some by their monarch's fatal mercy grown 
From pardoned rebels kinsmen to the throne 
Were raised in power and public office 

high; 
Strong bands, if bands ungrateful men 

could tie. 6s 

Of these the false Achitophel was first, 
A name to all succeeding ages curst : 
For close designs and crooked counsels fit, 
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit, 
Restless, unfixed in principles and place, 70 
In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace; 
A fiery soul, which working out its way. 
Fretted the pigmy body to decay 
And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 
A daring pilot in extremity, 75 

Pleased with the danger, when the waves 

went high, 
He sought the storms ; but for a calm unfit, 
Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his 

wit. 
Great wits are sure to madness near allied 
And thin partitions do their bounds di- 
vide ; 80 
Else, why should he, with wealth and honor 

blest. 
Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? 
Punish a body which he could not please. 
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? 
And all to leave what with his toil he won 
To that unfeathered two-legged thing, a 

son, 86 

Got, while his soul did huddled notions try^ 
And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy. 
In friendship false, implacable in hate, 
Resolved to ruin or to rule the state; 9C 
To compass this the triple bond he broke 
The pillars of the public safety shook. 
And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke ; 
Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting 

fame, 
Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name. 95 
So easy still it proves in factious times 
With public zeal to cancel private crimes. 
How safe is treason and how sacred iii, 
Where none can sin against the people's 

will. 
Where crowds can wink and no offense be 

known, 10° 

Since in another's guilt they find their own ! 
Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge ; 
The statesman we abhor, but praise the 

judge. 
In Israel's courts ne'er sat an abbethdin 
With more discerning eyes or hands more 

clean, los 

Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress, 
Swift of dispatch and easy of access. 



2'JO 



JOHN DRYDEN 



Oh ! had he been content to serve the crown 
With virtues only proper to the gown, 
Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 
From cockle that oppressed the noble 

seed, ^^^ 

David for him his tuneful harp had strung 
And Heaven had wanted one immortal song. 
But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand, 
And fortune's ice prefers to virtue's land. 
Achitophel, grown weary to possess ii6 

A lawful fame and lazy happiness. 
Disdained the golden fruit to gather free 
And lent the crowd his arm to shake the 

tree. 
Now, manifest of crimes contrived long 

since, ^-° 

He stood at bold defiance with his prince, 
Held up the buckler of the people's cause 
Against the crown, and skulked behind the 

laws. 
The wished occasion of the plot he takes; 
Some circumstances finds, but more he 

makes; ^^s 

By buzzing emissaries fills the ears 
Of listening crowds with jealousies and 

fears, 
Of arbitrary counsels brought to light. 
And proves the king himself a Jebusite. 
Weak arguments ! which yet he knew full 

well 130 

Were strong with people easy to rebel. 
For governed by the moon, the giddy Jews 
Tread the same track when she the prime 

renews: 
And once in twenty years their scribes re- 
cord. 
By natural instinct they change their lord. 
Achitophel still wants a chief, and none 136 
Was found so fit as warlike Absalon. 
Not that he wished his greatness to create, 
For politicians neither love nor hate: 
But, for he knew his title not allowed 140 
Would keep him still depending on the 

crowd, 
That kingly power, thus ebbing out, might 

be 
Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 

(1681) 
* * * 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER 

A milk-white Hind, immortal and un- 
changed. 
Fed on the lawns and in the forest ranged; 
Without unspotted, innocent within, 
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. 



Yet had she oft been chased with horns and 
hounds s 

And Scythian shafts ; and many winged 
wounds 

Aimed at her heart; was often forced to 

fly, 

And doomed to death, though fated not to 
die. 
Not so her young; for their unequal line 
Was hero's make, half human, half di- 
vine. 10 
Their earthly mold oBnoxious was to fate. 
The immortal part assumed immortal state. 
Of these a slaughtered army lay in blood, 
Extended o'er the Caledonian wood. 
Their native walk ; whose vocal blood arose 
And cried for pardon on their perjured 
foes. 16 
Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine 

seed, 
Endued with souls, increased the sacred 

breed. 
So captive Israel multiplied in chains, 
A numerous exile, and enjoyed her pains. 20 
With grief and gladness mixed, their mother 

viewed 
Her martyred offspring and their race re- 
newed ; 
Their corpse to perish, but their kind to 

last, 

So much the deathless plant the dying fruit 

surpassed. 

Panting and pensive now she ranged 

alone, 25 

And wandered in the kingdoms once her 

own. 
The common hunt, though from their rage 

restrained 
By sovereign power, her company disdained. 
Grinned as they passed, and with a glaring 

eye 
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. 30 
'T is true she bounded by and tripped so 

light, 
They had not time to take a steady sight ; 
For truth has such a face and such a mieti 
As, to be loved needs only to be seen. 

The bloody Bear, an independent beast, 35 
Unlicked to form, in groans her hate ex- 
pressed. 
Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare 
Professed neutrality, but would not swear. 
Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use. 
Mimicked all sects and had his own to 
choose ; 4o 

Still when the Lion looked, his knees he 
bent. 



THE HIND AND THE i'ANTHER 



271 



And paid at church a courtier's compliment. 

The bristled baptist Boar, impure as he, 

But whitened with the foam of sanctity. 

With fat pollutions filled the sacred place 4S 

And mountains leveled in his furious race ; 

So first rebellion founded was in grace. 

But, since the mighty ravage which he made 

In German forests had his guilt betrayed. 

With broken tusks and with a borrowed 
name, 5° 

He shunned the vengeance and concealed 
the shame, 

So lurked in sects unseen. With greater 
guile 

False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil ; 

The graceless beast by Athanasius first 

Was chased from Nice, then by Socinus 
nursed, ss 

His impious race their blasphemy renewed. 

And Nature's King through Nature's optics 
viewed ; 

Reversed they viewed him lessened to their 
eye. 

Nor in an infant could a God descry. 

New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, 

Hence they began, and here they all will 
end. 6i 

What weight of ancient witness can pre- 
vail. 

If private reason hold the public scale? 

But, gracious God, how well dost thou pro- 
vide 

For erring judgments an unerring guide ! 6s 

Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of 
light, 

A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. 

O teach me to believe thee thus concealed, 

And search no farther than thy self re- 
vealed ; 

But her alone for my director take, 70 

Whom thou hast promised never to for- 
sake ! 

My thoughtless youth was winged with vain 
desires ; 

My manhood, long misled by wandering 
fires. 

Followed false lights ; and when their 
glimpse was gone, 

My pride struck out new sparkles of her 
own. 75 

Such was I, such by nature still I am; 

Be thine the glory and be mine the shame ! 

Good life be now my task; my doubts are 
done : 

What more could fright my faith than 
Three in One? 

Can I believe eternal God could lie 80 

Disguised in mortal mold and infancy. 



That the great Maker of the world could 

die? 
And, after that, trust my imperfect sense 
Which calls in question his omnipotence? 
Can I my reason to my faith compel, 85 

And shall my sight and touch and taste 

rebel ? 
Superior faculties are set aside; 
Shall their subservient organs be my guide? 
Then let the moon usurp the rule of day. 
And winking tapers show the sun his way; 
For what my senses can themselves per- 
ceive 91 
I need no revelation to believe. 
Can the)'-, who say the host should be 

descried 
By sense, define a body glorified. 
Impassible, and penetrating parts? 95 

Let them declare by what mysterious arts 
He shot that body through the opposing 

might 
Of bolts and bars impervious to the light, 
And stood before his train confessed in 

open sight. 
For since thus wondrously he passed, 't is 
plain 100 

One single place two bodies did Contain, 
And sure the same omnipotence as well 
Can make one body in more places dwell. 
Let Reason then at her own quarry fly, 
But how can finite grasp infinity? los 

'T is urged again, that faith did first com- 
mence 
By miracles, which are appeals to sense. 
And thence concluded, that our sense must 

be 
The motive still of credibility. 
For later ages must on former wait, no 
And what began belief must propagate. 
But winnow well this thought, and you 
shall find 
'T is light as chaff that flies before the wind. 
Were all those wonders wrought by power 

divine 
As means or ends of some more deep de- 
sign? IIS 
Most sure as means, whose end was this 

alone. 
To prove th£ Godhead of the eternal Son. 
God thus asserted : man is to believe 
Beyond what sense and reason can con- 
ceive. 
And for mysterious things of faith rely 120 
On the proponent Heaven's authority. 
If then our faith we for our guide admit, 
Vain is the farther search of human wit; 
As when the building gains a surer stay, 
We take the unuseful scaffolding away. 125 



272 



JOHN DRYDEN 



Reason by sense no more can understand ; 

The game is played into another hand. 

Why chose we then like bilanders to creep 

Along the coast, and land in view to keep, 

When safely we may launch into the deep? 

In the same vessel v/hich our Savior bore, 

Himself the pilot, let us leave the shore, 132 

And with a better guide a better world ex- 
plore. 

Could he his godhead veil with flesh and 
blood 

And not veil these again to be our food? 

His grace in both is equal in extent; 136 

The first affords us life, the second nourish- 
ment. 

And if he can, why all this frantic pain 

To construe what his clearest words con- 
tain. 

And make a riddle what he made so plain? 

To take up half on trust and half to try, 141 

Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 

Both knave and fool the merchant we may 
■ call 

To pay great sums and to compound the 
small, 

For who would break with Heaven, and 
would not break for all? ^45 

Rest then, my soul, from endless anguish 
freed : 

Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed. 

Faith is the best insurer of thy bliss; 

The bank above must fail before the ven- 
ture miss. 

But Heaven and heaven-born faith are far 
from thee, ^so 

Thou first apostate to divinity. ' 

Unkennelled range in thy Polonian plains ; 

A fiercer foe, the insatiate Wolf remains. 
Too boastful Britain, please thyself no 
more 

That beasts of prey are banished from thy 
shore; '55 

The Bear, the Boar, and every savage name. 

Wild in effect, though in appearance tame. 

Lay waste thy woods, destroy thy blissful 
bower, 

And, muzzled though they seem, the mutes 
devour. 

More haughty than the rest, the wolfish 
race 160 

Appear with belly gaunt and famished face ; 

Never was so deformed a beast of grace. 

His ragged tail betwixt his legs he wears. 

Close clapped for shame ; but his rough 
crest he rears. 

And pricks up his predestinating ears. 16s 

His wild disordered walk, his haggard eyes. 

Did all the bestial citizens surprise: 



Though feared and hated, yet he ruled a 
while, 

As captain or companion of the spoil. 

Full many a year his hateful head had 
been i7<> 

For tribute paid, nor since in Cambria seen; 

The last of all the litter 'scaped by chance, 

And from Geneva first infested France. 

Some authors thus his pedigree will trace. 

But others write him of an upstart race; i75 

Because of Wyclif's brood no mark he 
brings 

But his innate antipathy to kings. 

These last deduce him from the Helvetian 
kind. 

Who near the Leman lake his consort lined ; 

That fiery Zuinglius first the affection bred, 

And meager Calvin blessed the nuptial bed. 

In Israel some believe him whelped long 
since, 182 

When the proud sanhedrim oppressed the 
prince, 

Or, since he will be Jew, derive him higher. 

When Corah with his brethren did con- 
spire 185 

From Moses' hand the sovereign sway to 
wrest, 

And Aaron of his ephod to divest; 

Till opening earth made way for all to 
pass, 

And could not bear the burden of a class. 

The Fox and he came shuffled in the dark, 

If ever they were stowed in Noah's ark; 191 

Perhaps not made; for all their barking 
train 

The Dog (a common species) will contain; 

And some wild curs, who from their mas- 
ters ran, 

Abhorring the supremacy of man, i9S 

In woods and caves the rebel-race began. 
O happy pair, how well have you in- 
creased ! 

What ills in church and state have you 
redressed! 

With teeth untried and rudiments of claws. 

Your first essay was on your native laws : 

Those having torn with ease and trampled 
down, 201 

Your fangs you fastened on the mitered 
crown. 

And freed from God and monarchy your 
town. 

What though your native kennel still be 
small, 

Bounded betwixt a puddle and a wall ; 205 

Yet your victorious colonies are sent 

Where the North Ocean girds the conti- 
nent. 



THE HIND AND THE PANTHER 



273 



Quickened with fire below, your monsters 

breed 
In fenny Holland and in fruitful Tweed ; 
And, like the first, the last affects to be 210 
Drawn to the dregs of a democracy. 
As, where in fields the fairy rounds are 

seen 
A rank sour herbage rises on the green ; 
So, springing where these midnight elves 

advance. 
Rebellion prints the footsteps of the dance. 
Such are their doctrines, such contempt 
they show 216 

To Heaven above and to their prince be- 
low, 
As none but traitors and blasphemers 

know. 
God like the tyrant of the skies is placed, 
And kings, like slaves, beneath the crowd 
debased. 220 

So "fulsome is their food that flocks refuse 
To bite, and only dogs for physic use. 
As, where the lightning ' runs along the 

ground. 
No husbandry can heal the blasting wound; 
Nor bladed grass nor bearded corn suc- 
ceeds, 225 
But scales of scurf, and putrefaction breeds : 
Such wars, such waste, such fiery tracks of 

dearth 
Their zeal has left, and such a teemless 

earth. 
But as the poisons of the deadliest kind 
Are to their own unhappy coasts confined, 
As only Indian shades of sight deprive, 231 
And magic plants will but in Colchos thrive, 
So Presbytery and pestilential zeal 
Can only flourish in a common-weal. 

* * * 

These are the chief; to number o'er the 
rest 233 

And stand, like Adam, naming every beast, 
Were weary work; nor will the Muse de- 
scribe 
A slimy-borh and sun-begotten tribe. 
Who, far from steeples and their sacred 

sound. 
In fields their sullen conventicles found. 240 
These gross, half -animated lumps I leave, 
Nor can I think what thoughts they can 

conceive. 
But if they think at all, 'tis sure no higher 
Than matter put in motion may aspire ; 
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of 
clay, 24s 

So drossy, so divisible are they 
As would but serve pure bodies for allay, 



Such souls as shards produce, such beetle 

things 
As only buzz to heaven with evening wings. 
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance. 
Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance. 
They know not beings, and but hate a 

name; 252 

To them the Hind and Panther are the 

same. 
The Panther, sure the noblest next the 

Hind 
And fairest creature of the spotted kind ; 
Oh, could , her inborn stains be washed 

away 256 

She were too good to be a beast of prey! 
How can I praise or blame, and not of- 
fend, 
Or how divide the frailty from the friend? 
Her faults and virtues lie so mixed, that 

she 260 

Nor wholly stands condemned nor wholly 

free. 
Then, like her injured Lion, let me speak; 
He cannot bend her and he would not 

break. 
Unkind already, and estranged in part, 
The Wolf begins to share her wandering 

heart. 265 

Though unpolluted yet with actual ill, 
She half commits who sins but in her will. 
If, as our dreaming Platonists report. 
There could be spirits of a middle sort. 
Too black for heaven and yet too white for 

hell, 270 

Who just dropped half-way down, nor lower 

fell ; 
So poised, so gently she descends from 

high. 
It seems a soft dismission from the sky. 
Her house not ancient, whatsoe'er pretense 
Her clergy heralds make in her defense ^vs 
A second century not half-way run. 
Since the new honors of her blood begun. 
* * * 

Thus is the Panther neither loved nor 

feared, 
A mere mock queen of a divided herd ; 
Whom soon by lawful power she might 

control, 280 

Herself a part submitted to the whole. 
Then, as the moon who first receives the 

light 
By which she makes our nether regions 

bright. 
So might she shine, reflecting from afar 
The rays she borrowed from a better star; 
Big with the beams which from her mother 

flow 



274 



JOHN DRYDEN 



And reigning o'er the rising tides below: 
Now mixing with a savage crowd she goes, 
And meanly flatters her inveterate foes, 
Ruled while she rules, and losing every 

hour 290 

Her wretched remnants of precarious 

power. 
One evening, while the cooler shade she 

sought, 
Revolving many a melancholy thought. 
Alone she walked, and looked around in 

vain ^94 

With rueful visage for her vanished train : 
None of her sylvan subjects made their 

court ; 
Levees and couchees passed without resort. 
So hardly can usurpers manage well 
Those whom they first instructed to rebel. 
More liberty begets desire of more ; 300 

The hunger still increases with the store. 
Without respect they brushed along the 

wood, 
Each in his clan, and, filled with loathsome 

food. 
Asked no permission to the neighboring 

flood. 
The Panther, full of inward discontent, 305 
Since they would go, before them wisely 

went; 
Supplying want of power by drinking first, 
As if she gave them leave to quench their 

thirst. 
Among the rest, the Hind with fearful face 
Beheld from far the common watering- 
place, 310 
Nor durst approach ; till with an awful roar 
The sovereign Lion bade her fear no more. 
Encouraged thus, she brought her young- 
lings nigh. 
Watching the motions of her patron's eye. 
And drank a sober draft; the rest 

amazed 3^5 

Stood mutely still and on the stranger 

gazed ; 
Surveyed her part by part, and sought to 

find 
The ten-horned monster in the harmless 

Hind, 
Such as the Wolf and Panther had 

designed. 
They thought at first they dreamed : for 

"t was offense 320 

With them to question certitude of sense. 
Their guide in faith : but nearer when they 

drew. 
And had the faultless object full in view, 
Lord, how they all admired her heavenly 

hue ! 324 



Some, who before her fellowship disdained, 
Scarce, and but scarce, from inborn rage 

restrained. 
Now frisked about her and old kindred 

feigned. 
Whether for love or interest, every sect 
Of all the savage nation showed respect. 
The viceroy Panther could not awe the 

herd; 33" 

The more the company, the less they feared. 
The surly Wolf with secret envy burst. 
Yet could not howl, the Hind had seen him 

first; 
But what he durst not speak, the Panther 

durst. 

* * * (1687) 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST 
OR THE POWER OF MUSIC 

A SONG IN HONOR OF ST. CECILIA's DAY 



'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son : 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne; w 

His valiant peers were placed around; 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles 
bound 
(So should desert in arms be crowned). 
The lovely Thais, by his side. 
Sate like a blooming Eastern bride, 1° 

In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, happy, happy, pair ! 
None but the brave. 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave deserves the fair, is 

Chorus : Happy, happy, happy pair, etc. 



Timotheus, placed on high 

Amid the tuneful quire. 
With flying fingers touched the lyre: 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 20 

And heavenly joys inspire 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above 
(Such is the power of mighty love). 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 25 
Sublime on radiant spires he rode, 
When he to fair Olympia pressed: 
And while he sought her snowy breast. 
Then round her slender waist he curled, 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST 



275 



And stamped an image of himself, a 

sovereign of the world. 3° 

The listening crowd admire the lofty 

sound, 
A present deity, they shout around ; 
A present deity the vaulted roofs re- 
bound : 
With ravished ears 
The monarch hears, 33 

Assumes the god. 
Affects to nod. 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

Chorus : With ravished ears, etc. 



The praise of Bacchus then the sweet 
musician sung, 4° 

Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young. 
The jolly god in triumph comes ; 
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ; 
Flushed with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face : 43 

Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, 
he comes. 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 

Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure; 50 
Rich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure. 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Chorus : Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
etc. 

4 
Soothed with the sound the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er again ; s6 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice 
he slew the slain. 
The master saw the madness rise. 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And while he heaven and earth defied, 60 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 
He chose a mournful Muse, 
Soft pity to infuse ; 
He sung Darius great and good. 

By too severe a fate, 65 

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate. 
And weltering in his blood ; 
Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed ! 7° 
On the bare earth exposed he lies. 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor 
sate. 



Revolving in his altered soul 
The various turns of chance below; 

And, now and then, a sigh he stole, 76 
And tears began to flow. 

Chorus : Revolving in the altered soul, etc. 



The mighty master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree; 80 
'T was but a kindred sound to move, 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet in Lydian measures. 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he simg, is toil and trouble; 8^ 

Honor but an empty bubble ; 

Never ending, still beginning. 
Fighting still, and still destroying: 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, O think it worth enjoying: 90 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
Take the good the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the skies with loud ap- 
plause ; 
So love was crowned, but Music won the 
cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 95 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care, 
And sighed and looked, sighed and 

looked, 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again ; 
At length, with love and wine at once op- 
pressed, 100 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her 
breast. 

Chorus : The prince, unable to conceal his 
pain, etc. 



Now strike the golden lyre again ; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, los 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of 
thunder. 
Hark, hark, the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head; 
As awaked from the dead. 
And amazed, he stares around. no 
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries. 
See the Furies arise; 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their 
eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band, uS 

Each a torch in his hand ! 



276 



JOHN DRYDEN 



Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle 
were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain: i^o 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes. 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
The princes applaud with a furious joy; 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to 
destroy; 1^7 

Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey, 
And, like another Helen, fired another 
Troy. 130 

Chorus : And the king seized a flambeau 
zeal to destroy, etc. 



Thus long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute i3S 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft 
desire. 
At last divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred 
store, 140 

Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
And added length to solemn sounds. 
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts un- 
known before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown : i4S 

He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
She drew an angel down. . 

Grand Chorus : At last divine Cecilia 
came, etcl 

(1697) 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 

It was that memorable day, in the first 
summer of the late war, when our navy 
engaged the Dutch — a day wherein the 
two most mighty and best appointed fleets 
which any age had ever seen, disputed 
the command of the greater half of the 
globe, the commerce of nations, and the 
riches of the universe. While these 
vast floating bodies, on either side, moved 
against each other in parallel lines, and 



our countrymen, under the happy conduct 
of his royal highness, went breaking, by 
little and little, into the line of the 
enemies, the noise of the cannon from 
both navies reached our ears about the 
city; so that all men being alarmed with 
it, and in a dreadful suspense of the 
event, which they knew was ihen decid- 
ing, every one went following the sound 
as his fancy led him. And leaving the 
town almost empty, some took towards 
the Park, some cross the river, others 
down it ; all seeking the noise in the depth 
of silence. 

Among the rest, it was the fortune of 
Eugenius, Crites, Lisideius, and Neander, 
to be in company together : three of them 
persons whom their wit and quality have 
made known to all the town ; and whom 
I have chosen to hide under these bor- 
rowed namics, that they may not suffer 
by so ill a relation as I am going to make 
of their discourse. 

Taking then a barge, which a servant 
of Lisideius had provided for them, they 
made haste to shoot the bridge, and left 
behind them that great fall of waters 
which hindered them from hearing what 
they desired ; after which, having disen- 
gaged themselves from many vessels 
which rode at anchor in the Thames, and 
almost blocked up the passage towards 
Greenwich, they ordered the watermen to 
let fall their oars more gently; and then 
every one favoring his own curiosity 
with a strict silence, it was not long ere 
they perceived the air to break about 
them like the noise of distant thunder, or 
of swallows in a chimney : those little 
undulations of sound, though almost 
vanishing before they reached them, yet 
still seeming to retain somewhat of their 
first horror which they had betwixt the 
fleets. 

After they had attentively listened till 
such time as the sound by little and little 
went from them, Eugenius, lifting up his 
head, and taking notice of it, was the first 
who congratulated to the rest that happy 
omen of our nation's victory: adding, 
that we had but this to desire in con- 
firmation of it, that we might hear no 
more of that noise which was now leav- 
ing the English coast. 

When the rest had concurred in the 

same opinion, Crites (a person of a 

sharp judgment, and somewhat a too 

, delicate taste in wit. which the world 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY ^i 277 

have mistaken in him for ill nature), Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia 

said, smiling to us, that if the concern- crasse 

ment of -this battle had not been so ex- Compositum, illepideve putetur, scd quia 

ceeding great, he could scarce have nuper. 

wished the victory at_ the price he knew 5 ^ ^^ indignant when anything is blamed, 

he must pay for it, m being subject to ^^^ because it is thought badly or inelegantly 

the reading and hearing of so many ill ^^-^^^^^ ^ut because it is new.] 

verses as he was sure would be made 

on that subject. Adding, that no argu- j^^j after* 

ment could 'scape some of those eternal 10 

rimers, who watch a battle with more ^. ^^^.^^^ ^.^^^ ^^ ^. ^^^^^^^^ ^ 

diligence than the ravens and birds of 5.^-,,^ ^^^-^^^ ^^^^-^^ ^^^^^^-^ ^^^ ^^ 

prey; and the worst of them surest to annus f 

be first in upon the quarry; while the 

better able, either out of modesty writ 15 [If time makes poems better, as it does 

not at all, or set that due value upon wines, I should like to know what length 

their poems, as to let them be often de- of years gives value to writings.] 

sired, and long expected. 

There are some of those impertinent But I see I am engaging in a wide dis- 
people of whom you speak (answered 20 pute, where the arguments are not like 
Lisideius) who, to my knowledge, are to reach close on either side; for poesy 
already so provided, either way, that they is of so large an extent, and so many, 
can produce not only a panegyric upon both of the ancients and moderns, have 
the victory, but, if need be, a funeral done well in all kinds of it, that in citing 
elegy on the duke ; wherein, after they 25 one against the other, we shall take up 
have crowned his valor with many more time this evening, than each man's 
laurels, they will at last deplore the odds occasions will allow him. Therefore I 
under which he fell, concluding, that his would ask Crites to what part of poesy he 
courage deserved a better destiny. 3° would confine his arguments, and whether 

* * * he would defend the general cause of the 

There are so few who write well, in ancients against the moderns, or oppose 
this age (said Crites), that methinks any age of the moderns against this of 
any praises should be welcome. They ours. 

neither rise to the dignity of the last 35 Crites, a little while considering upon 
age, nor to any of the ancients : and we this demand, told Eugenius, that if he 
may cry out of the writers of this time, pleased he would limit their dispute to 
with more reason than Petronius of his, dramatic poesy; in which he thought it 
Pace vestra liceat dixisse, primi omnium not difficult to prove, either that the an- 
eloquentiam perdidistis: You have de- 4° cients were superior to the moderns, or 
bauched the true old poetry so far, that the last age to this of ours. 
Nature, which is the soul of it, is not in Eugenius was somewhat surprised, 

any of your writings ! when he heard Crites make choice of that 

If your quarrel (said Eugenius) to subject. For aught I see (said he), I 
those who now write, be grounded only 45 have undertaken a harder province than 
upon your reverence to antiquity, there I imagined; for, though I never judged 
is no man more ready to adore those the plays of the Greek or Roman poets 
great Greeks and Romans than I am ; but, comparable to ours, yet, on the other side, 
on the other side, I cannot think so con- those we now see acted come short of 
temptibly of the age in which I Hve, or 5o many which were written in the last agt^ 
so dishonorably of my own country, as But my comfoi^t is, if we are overcome, 
not to judge we equal the ancients in it will be only by our own countrymen ; 
most kinds of poesy, and in some surpass and if we yield to them in this one part 
them. Neither know I any reason why of poesy, we more surpass them in all 
I may not be as zealous for the reputation 55 the other; for in the epic or lyric way, it 
of our age, as we find the ancients them- will be hard for them to show us one 
selves were in reference to those who such amongst them, as we have many 
lived before them. For you hear your now living, or who lately were. They 
Horace saying, can produce nothing so courtly writ, or 



2^% JOHN DRYDEN 



which expresses so much the conversa- the rest; and after they had given ordpr 
tion of a gentleman, as Sir John Suck- to the waterman to turn their barge, and 
Hng; nothing so even, sweet, and flowing, row softly, that they might take, the cool 
as Mr. Waller; nothing so majestic, so of the evening in their return, Crites, be- 
correct, as Sir John Denham ; nothing so 5 ing desired by the company to begin, 
elevated, so copious, and full of spirit, as spoke on behalf of the ancients, in this 
Mr. Cowley. As for the Italian, French, manner: — 

and Spanish plays, I can make it evident If confidence presage a victory, Euge- 

that those who now write surpass them; nius, in his own opinion, has already 
and that the drama is wholly ours. lo triumphed over the ancients : nothing 

All of them were thus far of Eugenius seems more easy to him than to overcome 
his opinion, that the sweetness of Eng- those whom it is our greatest praise to 
lish verse was never understood or prac- have imitated well; for we do not only 
tised by our fathers; even Crites himself build upon their foundations, but by 
did not much oppose it. And every one 15 their models. Dramatic poesy had time 
was willing to acknowledge how much enough, reckoning from Thespis (who 
our poesy is improved, by the happiness first invented it) to Aristophanes, to be 
of some writers yet living, who first born, to grow up, and to flourish in 
taught us to mold our thoughts into maturity. It has been observed of arts 
easy and significant words, to retrench 20 and sciences, that in one and the same 
the superfluities of expression, and to century they have arrived to great per- 
make our rime so properly a part of the fection; and no wonder, since every age 
verse, that it should never mislead the has a kind of universal genius, which 
sense, but itself be led and governed by inclines those that live in it to some par- 
it. 25 ticular studies. The work then being 

Eugenius was going to continue this pushed on by many hands, must of neces- 
discourse, when Lisideius told him that it sity go forward. 

was necessary, before they proceeded Is it not evident, in these last hundred 

further, to take a standing measure of years (when the study of philosophy has 
their controversy ; for how was it possible 3° been the business of all the virtuosi in 
to be decided, who wrote the best plays, Christendom), that almost a new nature 
before we know what a play should be ? has been revealed to us ? that more errors 
But, this once agreed on by both parties, of the school have been detected, more 
each might have recourse to it, either to useful experiments in philosophy have i 
prove his own advantages, or to discover 35 been made, more noble secrets in optics, 
the failings of his adversary. medicine, anatomy, astronomy, discov- 

He had no sooner said this, but all de- ered, than in all those credulous and 
sired the favor of him to give the defini- doting ages from Aristotle to us? So 
tion of a play ; and they were the more true it is, that nothing spreads more fast 
importunate, because neither Aristotle, nor 40 than science, when rightly and generally 
Horace, nor any other, who had writ of cultivated, 
that subject, had ever done it. Add to this, the more than common 

Lisideius, after some modest denials, at emulation that was in those times, of 
last confessed he had a rude notion of it; writing well; which though it be found 
indeed rather a description than a defini- 45 in all ages and all persons that pretend 
tion ; but which served to guide him in his to the same reputation, yet poesy being 
private thoughts, when he was to make a then in more esteem than now it is, had 
judgment of what others writ; that he greater honors decreed to the professors 
conceived a play ought to be, ' A just and of it, and consequently the' rivalship was 
lively image of human nature, represent- 5° more high between them. They had 
ing its passions and humors, and the judges ordained to decide their merit, and 
changes of fortune to which it is subject, prizes to reward it; and historians have 
for the delight and instruction of man- been diligent to record of ^schylus, 
kind.' ' Euripides, Sophocles, Lycophron, and the 

This definition (though Crites raised a 55 rest of them, both who they were that 
logical objection against it — that it was vanquished in these wars of the theater, 
only a genere et fine, and so not alto- and how often they were crowned; while 
gether perfect) was yet well received by the Asian kings and Grecian common- 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 279 

wealths scarce afiforded them a nobler the famous rules which the French call 
subject than the unmanly luxuries of a les trois unites, or the three unities, 
debauched court, or giddy intrigues of a which ought to be observed in every reg- 
*actious city. Alit aemulatio ingenia, ular play; namely, of time, place, and 
(says Paterculus) et nunc invidia, nunc 5 action. 

admiratio incitationem accendit: Emula- The unity of time they comprehend in 

tion is the spur of wit; and sometimes twenty- four hours, the compass of a 
envy, sometimes admiration, quickens our natural day, or as near as it can be con- 
endeavors, trived ; and the reason of it is obvious 

But now since the rewards of honor 10 to every one, — that the time of the 
are taken away, that virtuous emulation feigned action, or fable of the play, 
is turned into direct malice; yet so sloth- should be proportioned as near as can be 
ful, that it contents itself to condemn and to the duration of that time in which it 
cry down others, without attempting to is represented. Since therefore all plays 
do better. 'T is a reputation too un- 15 are acted on the theater in a space of 
profitable, to take the necessary pains for time much within the compass of twenty- 
it ; yet wishing they had it, that desire four hours, that play is to be thought the 
is incitement enough to hinder others nearest imitation of nature, whose plot 
from it. And this, in short, Eugenius, or action is confined within that time, 
is the reason, why you have now so few 20 And by the same rule which concludes 
good poets, and so many severe judges, this general proportion of time, it follows 
Certainly, to imitate the ancients well, that all the parts of it are (as near as 
much labor and long study is required; may be) to be equally subdivided; 
which pains, I have already shown, our namely, that one act take not up the sup- 
poets would want encouragement to take, 25 posed time of half a day, which is out of 
if yet they had ability to go through the proportion to the rest ; since the other 
work. Those ancients have been faith- four are then to be straitened within the 
ful imitators, and wise observers of that compass of the remaining half : for it is 
nature which is so torn and ill repre- unnatural, that one act, which being 
sented in our plays; they have handed 3° spoken or written, is not longer than the 
down to us a perfect resemblance of her ; rest, should be supposed longer by the 
which we, like ill copiers, neglecting to audience. It is therefore the poet's duty, 
look on, have rendered monstrous, and to take care, that no act should be im- 
disfigured. But, that you may know how agined to exceed the time in which it is 
much you are indebted to those your 35 represented on the stage ; and that the 
masters, and be ashamed to have so ill intervals and inequalities of time be sup- 
requited them, I must remember you, that posed to fall out between the acts, 
all the rules by which we practise the This rule of time, how well it has 

drama at this day (either such as relate been observed by the ancients, most of 
to the justness and symmetry of the plot ; 40 their plays will witness. You see them 
or the episodical ornament's, such as de- in their tragedies (wherein to follow this 
iscriptions, narrations, and other beauties, rule is certainly most difificult), from the 
which are not essential to the play) very beginning of their plays, falling 
were delivered to us from the observa- close into that part of the story which 
tions which Aristotle made,, of those 45 they intend for the action, or principal 
poets, who either lived before him, or object of it, leaving the former part to 
were his contemporaries. We have be delivered by narration : so that they 
added nothing of our own, except we set the audience, as it were, at the post 
have the confidence to say, our wit is where the race is to be . concluded ; and 
better; of which none boast in this our 50 saving them the tedious expectation of 
age, but such as understand not theirs, seeing the poet set out and ride the be- 
Of that book which Aristotle has left ginning of the course, they suffer you not 
us, Tept TTJs Iloi7]TiKi}s, Horace his Art to behold him, till he is in sight of the 
of Poetry, is an excellent comment, and, goal, and just upon you. 
I believe, restores to us that Second 55 For the second unity, which is that of 
Book of his concerning comedy, which is place, the ancients meant by it, that the 
wanting in him. scene ought to be continued through the 

Out of these two have been extracted play, in the same place where it was laid 



28o 



JOHN DRYDEN 



in the beginning; for the stage, on which 
it is represented, being but one and the 
same place, it is unnatural to conceive 
it many; and those far distant from one 
another. I will not deny, but by the 
variation of painted scenes, the fancy 
(which in these cases will contribute to 
its own deceit) may sometimes imagine 
it several places, with some appearance 
of probability; yet it still carries the 
greater likelihood of truth, if those places 
be supposed so near each other, as in the 
same town or city, which may all be com- 
prehended under the larger denomination 
of one place; for a greater distance will 
bear no proportion to the shortness of 
time which is allotted, in the acting, to 
pass from one of them to another. For 
the observation of this, next to the an- 
cients, the French are to be most com- 
mended. They tie themselves so strictly 
to the unity of place, that you never see 
in any of their plays, a scene changed in 
the middle of an act: if the act begins 
in a garden, a street, or chamber, 't is 
ended in the same place ; and that you 
may know it to be the same, the stage 
is so supplied with persons, that it is 
never empty all the time : he who enters 
second, has business with him who was 
on beforfe; and before the second quits 
the stage, a third appears who has busi- 
ness with him. This Corneille calls la 
liaison des scenes, the continuity or join- 
ing of the scenes ; and 't is a good mark 
of a well-contrived play, when all the 
persons are known to each other, and 
every one of them has some affairs with 
all the rest. 

As for the third unity, which is that 
of action, the ancients meant no other by, 
it than what the logicians do by their 
finis, the end or scope of any action ; that 
which is the first in intention, and last 
in execution. Now the poet is to aim 
at one great and complete action, to the 
carrying on of which all things in his 
play, even the very obstacles, are to be 
subservient; and the reason of this is as 
evident as any of the former. 

For two actions equally labored and 
driven on by the writer, would destroy 
the unity of the poem ; it would be no 
longer one play, but two : not but that 
there may be many actions in a play, as 
Ben Jonson has observed in his Dis- 
coveries; but they must be all subservient 
to the great one, which our language 



happily expresses in the name of under- 
plots : such as in Terence's Eunuch is the 
difference and reconcilement of Thais and 
Pha^dria, which is not the chief business 
5 of the play, but promotes the marriage of 
Cha^rea and Chremes's sister, principally 
intended by the poet. There ought to be 
but one action (says Corneille), that is, 
one complete action, which leaves the 

10 mind of the audience in a full repose ; but 
this cannot be brought to pass, but by 
many other imperfect actions, which con- 
duce to it, and hold the audience in a de- 
lightful suspense of what will be. 

15 If by these rules (to omit many other 
drawn from the precepts and practice of 
the ancients) we should judge our mod- 
ern plays, 't is probable that few of them 
would endure the trial : that which should 

20 be the business of a day, takes up in some 
of them an age ; instead of one action, 
they are the epitomes of a man's life, and 
for one spot of ground (which the stage 
should represent) we are sometimes in 

25 more countries than the map can show 
us. 

But if we allow the ancients to have 
contrived well, we must acknowledge 
them to have written better. Question- 

30 less we are deprived of a great stock of 
wit in the loss of Menander among the 
Greek poets, and Caecilius, Afranius, 
and Varius, among the Romans. We 
may guess at Menander's excellency, by 

35 the plays of Terence, who translated 
some of them ; and yet wanted so much of 
him, that he was called by C. Caesar 
the half-Menander ; and may judge of 
Varius, by the testimonies of Horace, 

40 Martial, and Velleius Paterculus. 'T is 
probable that these, could they be recov- 
ered, would decide the controversy; but 
so long as Aristophanes and Plautus are 
extant, while the tragedies of Euripides, 

45 Sophocles, and Seneca, are in our hands, 
I can never see one of those plays which 
are now written, but it increases my ad- 
miration of the ancients. And yet I must 
acknowledge further, that to admire them 

50 as we ought, we should understand them 
better than we do. Doubtless many 
things appear flat to us, the wit of which 
depended on some custom or story, which 
never came to our knowledge ; or perhaps 

5S on some criticism in their language, 
which being so long dead, and only re- 
maining in their books, 't is not possible 
they should make us understand perfectly 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 281 



To read Macrobius, explaining the pro- the Hfe before us, besides the experience 
priety and elegancy of many words in of all they knew, it is no wonder if we 
Virgil, which I had before passed over hit some airs and features which they 
without consideration, as common things, have missed. I deny not what you urge 
is enough to assvire me, that I ought to 5 of arts and sciences, that they have 
think the same of Terence ; and that i 1 flourished in some ages more than others ; 
the purity of his style (which Tully so but your instance in philosophy makes 
much valued, that he ever carried his for me : for if natural causes be more 
works about him), there is yet left in known now than in the time of Aristode, 
him great room for admiration, if I knew 10 because more studied, it follows that 
but where to place it. In the meantime, poesy and other arts may, with the same 
I must desire you to take notice, that pains, arrive still nearer to perfection ; 
the greatest man of the last age (Ben and, that granted, it will rest for you to 
Jonson) was willing to give place to them prove that they wrought more perfect 
in all things: he was not only a professed 15 images of human life, than we; which 
imitator of Horace, but a learned plagiary seeing in your discourse you have avoided 
of all the others; you track him every- to make good, it shall now be my task to 
where in their snow. If Horace, Lucan, show you some part of their defects, and 
Petronius Arbiter, Seneca, and Juvenal, some few excellencies of the moderns, 
had their own from him, there are few 20 And I think there is none among us can 
serious thoughts which are new in him; imagine I do it enviously, or with pur- 
you will pardon me, therefore, if I pre- pose to detract from them; for what in- 
sume he loved their fashion, when he terest of fame or profit can the Hving 
wore their clothes. But since I have lose by the reputation of the dead? On 
otherwise a great veneration for him, and 25 the other side, it is a great truth which 
you, Eugenius, prefer him above all other Velleius Paterculus affirms: Audita -ei- 
poets, I will use no farther argument to sis libentius laudamtis; et praesentia 
you than his example: I will produce invidia, praeterita admiratione prosequi- 
before you Father Ben, dressed in all the mur; et his nos obnii, illis instriii credi- 
ornaments and colors of the ancients ; 30 mus [We praise things reported more 
you will need no other guide to our party, willingly than those seen ; and things of 
if you follow him; and whether you con- the present we pursue with envy, those of 
aider the bad plays of our age, or regard the past with admiration, believing our- 
the good plays of the last, both the best selves to be hindered by the former and 
and worst of the modern poets will 35 helped by the latter]. That praise or 
equally instruct you to admire the an- censure is certainly the most sincere, 
cients. which unbribed posterity shall give us. 

Crites had no sooner left speaking, but Be pleased then, in the first place, to 

Eugenius, who had waited with some im- take notice, that the Greek poesy, which 
patience for it, thus began : — 40 Crites has affirmed to have arrived to 

I have observed in your speech, that perfection in the reign of the old comedy, 
the former part of it is convincing, as to was so far from it, that the distinction 
what the moderns have profited by the of it into acts was not known to them ; or 
rules of the ancients; but in the latter if it were, it is yet so darkly delivered ta 
you are careful to conceal how much 45 us, that we cannot make it out. 
they have excelled them. We own all All we know of it is, from the singing 

the helps we have from them, and want of their chorus; and that too is so un- 
neither veneration nor gratitude, while certain, that in some of their plays we 
we acknowledge that to overcome them have reason to conjecture they sung more 
we must make use of the advantages we 50 than five times. Aristotle indeed di- 
have received from them ; but to these vides the integral parts of a play into 
assistances we have joined our own four. First, the Protasis, or entrance, 
industry; for, had we sat down with a which gives light only to the characters 
dull irnitation of them, we might then of the persons, and proceeds very little 
have lost somewhat of the old perfec- 55 into any part of the action. Secondly, 
tion, but never acquired any that was the Epitasis, or working up of the plot ; 
new. We draw not therefore after their where the play grows warmer, the de- 
lines, but those of nature; and having sign or action of it is drawing on, and 



282 JOHN DRYDEN 

you see something- promising that it will tragedies it was only some tale derived 
come to pass. Thirdly, the Catastasis, from Thebes or Troy, or at least some- 
called by the Romans, Status, the height thing that happened in those two ages ; 
and full growth of the play : we may call which was worn so thread-bare by the 
it properly the counterturn, which de- 5 pens of all the epic poets, and even by 
stroys that expectation, embroils the tradition itself of the talkative Greek- 
action in new difficulties, and leaves you lings (as Ben Jonson calls them), that 
far distant from that hope in which it before it came upon the stage, it was 
found you; as you may have observed in already known to all the audience; and 
a violent stream, resisted by a narrow lo the people, so soon as ever they heard the 
passage, — it runs round to an eddy, and name of CEdipus, knew as well as 
carries back the waters with more swift- the poet, that he had killed his father 
ness than it brought them on. Lastly, by a mistake, and committed incest with 
the Catastrophe, which the. Grecians his mother, before the play; that they 
called ^vcns, the French le denouement, 15 were now to hear of a great plague, an 
and we the discovery, or unraveling of oracle, -and the ghost of Laius ; so that 
the plot: there you see all things settling they sat with a yawning kind of expecta- 
again upon their first foundations, and, tion, till he was to come with his eyes 
the obstacles which hindered the design pulled out, and speak a hundred or more 
or action of the play once removed, it 20 verses in a tragic tone, in complaint of 
ends with that resemblance of truth and his misfortunes. But one CEdipus, Her- 
nature, that the audience are satisfied cules, or Medea, had been tolerable; poor 
with the conduct of it. Thus this great people, they escaped not so good cheap ; 
man delivered to us the image of a play; they had still the chapon bouille [boiled 
and I must confess it is so lively, that 25 chicken] set before them, till their ap- 
from thence much light has been derived petites were cloyed with the same dish, 
to the forming it more perfectly into and, the novelty being gone, the pleasure 
acts and scenes ; but what poet first vanished ; so that one main end of dra- 
limited to five the number of the acts, matic poesy in its definition, which was to 
I know not ; only we see it so firmly 30 cause delight, was of consequence de- 
established in the time of Horace, that stroyed. 

he gives it for a rule in comedy : — Neu In their comedies, the Romans gen- 
hrevior quinto, neu sit productior actu erally borrowed their plots from the 
[Let it be neither shorter nor longer than Greek poets; and theirs was commonly 
five acts]. So that you see the Grecians 35 a little girl stolen or wandered from her 
cannot be said to have consummated this parents, brought back unknown to the 
art; writing rather by entrances, than by city, there got with child by some lewd 
acts, and having rather a general indi- young fellow, who, by the help of his 
gested notion of a play, than knowing servant, cheats his father; and when her 
how, and where to bestow the particular 40 time comes to cry Juno Liicina, fer opem 
graces of it. [Help me, O goddess of childbearing] ! 

But since the Spaniards at this day one or other sees a little box or cabinet 
allow but three acts, which they call which was carried away with her, and so 
jornadas, to a play, and the Italians in discovers her to her friends, if some god 
many of theirs follow them, when I con- 45 do not prevent it, by coming down in a 
demn the ancients, I declare it is not al- machine, and taking the thanks of it to 
together because they have not five acts himself. 

to every play, but because they have not By the plot you may guess much of the 
confined themselves to one certain num- characters of the persons. An old father, 
ber; it is building a house without a 50 who would willingly, before he dies, see 
model ; and when they succeeded in such his son well married ; his debauched son, 
undertakings, they ought to have sacri- kind in his nature to his mistress, but 
ficed to Fortune, not to the Muses. miserably in want of money; a servant or 

Next, for the plot, which Aristotle slave, who has so much wit to strike in 
called TO /xv^o?, and often twv •n-payiU.aTwv 55 with him, and help to dupe his father; a 
uvvdeaisr and from him the Romans Fabula, braggadocio captain, a parasite, and a 
it has already been judiciously ob- lady of pleasure, 
served by a late writer, that in their As for the poor honest maid, on whom 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 283 

the story is built, and who ought to be si court [This is making good use of 
one of the principal actors in the play, so short a time], says the French poet, 
she is commonly a mute in it ; she has who furnished me with one of the ob- 
the breeding of the old Elizabeth way, servations : and almost all their tragedies 
which was for maids to be seen, and not ^ will afford us examples of the like nature, 
to be heard ; and it is enough you know It is true, they have kept the continuity, 

she is willing to be married, when the or, as you called it, liaison des scenes, 
fifth act requires it. somewhat better: two do not perpetually 

These are plots built after the Italian come in together, talk, and go out togeth- 
mode of houses, — you see through them 10 er; and other two succeed them, and do 
all at once; the characters are indeed the the same throughout the act, which the 
imitations of nature, but so narrow, as English call by the name of single scen^^s; 
if they had imitated only an eye or an but the reason is, because they have sel- 
hand, and did not dare to venture on the dom above two or three scenes, properly 
lines of a face, or the proportion of a 15 so called, in every act ; for it is to be 
body. _ _ accounted a new scene, not only every 

But in how straight a compass soever time the stage is empty, but every per- 
they have bounded their plots and char- son who enters, though to others, makes, 
acters, we will pass it by, if they have reg- it so; because he introduces a new busi- 
ularly pursued them, and perfectly 20 ness. Now the plots of their plays being 
observed those three unities of time, narrow, and the persons few, one of their 
place, and action ; the knowledge of acts was written in a less compass than 
which you say is derived to us from them, one of our well-wrought scenes ; and yet 
But, in the first place, give me leave to they are often deficient even in this. To 
tell you, that the unity of place, however 25 go no farther than Terence, you find in 
it might be practised by them, was never the Eunuch, Antipho entering single in 
any of their rules : we neither find it in the midst of the third act, after Chremes 
Aristotle, Horace, or any who have writ- and Pythias were gone off: in the same 
ten of it, till in our age the French poets play you have likewise Dorias beginning 
first made it a precept of the stage. The 30 the fourth act alone ; and after she has 
tmity of time, even Terence himself, who made a relation of what was done at 
was the best and most regular of them, the Soldier's entertainment (which by 
has neglected : his Heantontimormnenos, the way was very inartificial, because she 
or Self-punisher, takes up visibly two was presumed to speak directly to the 
days, says Scaliger; the two first acts 35 audience, and to acquaint them with what 
concluding the first day, the three last was necessary to be known, but yet 
the day ensuing; and Euripides, in tying should have been so contrived by the 
himself to one day, has committed an poet, as to have been told by persons 
absurdity never to be forgiven him; for of the drama to one another, and so by 
in one of his tragedies he has made 40 them to have come to the knowledge of 
Theseus go from Athens to Thebes, the people), she quits the stage, and 
which was about forty English miles, Phsedria enters next, alone likewise: he 
under the walls of it to give battle, and also gives you an account of himself, and 
appear victorious in the next act; and of his returning from the country, in 
yet, from the time of his departure to 45 monologue ; to which unnatural way of 
the return of the Nuntius, who gives the narration Terence is subject in all his 
relation of his victory, ^thra and the plays. In his Adelphi, or Brothers, 
Chorus have but thirty-six verses; which Syrus and Demea enter after the scene 
is not for every mile a verse. was broken by the departure of Sostrata, 

The like error is as evident in Terence 50 Geta, and Canthara; and indeed you can 
his Eunuch, when Laches, the old man, scarce look into any of his comedies, 
enters by mistake into the house of where you will not presently discover the 
Thais; where, betwixt his exit, and the same interruption. 

entrance of Pythias, who comes to give But as they have failed both in laying 

ample relation of the disorders he has 55 of their plots, and in the management, 
raised within, Parmeno, who was left swerving from the rules of their own 
upon the stage, has not above five lines art, by misrepresenting nature to us, in 
to speak. C'est bien employer un temps which they have ill satisfied one intention 



284 JOHN DRYDEN 



of a play, which was deHght; so in the both French and EngUsh, ought to give 
instructive part they have erred worse : place to him ? 

instead of punishing vice, and rewarding I fear (replied Neander) that, in obey- 

virtue, they have often shown a prosper- ing your commands, I shall draw some 
ous wickedness, and an unhappy piety: 5 envy on myself. Besides, in performing 
they have set before us a bloody image them, it will be first necessary to speak 
of revenge in Medea, and given her somewhat of Shakspere and Fletcher, his 
dragons to convey her safe from punish- rivals in poesy; and one of them, in my 
ment; a Priam and Astyanax murdered, opinion, at least his equal, perhaps his 
and Cassandra ravished, and the lust and 10 superior. 

murder ending in the victory of him who To begin then with Shakspere. He 

acted them. In short, there is no in- was the man who of all modern, and per- 
decorum in any of our modern plays, haps ancient poets, had the largest and 
which, if I would excuse, I could not most comprehensive soul. All the images 
shadow with some authority from the 15 of nature were still present to him, and 
ancients. he drew them not laboriously, but luckily : 

And one further note of them let me when he describes anything, you more 
leave you: tragedies and comedies were than see it, you feel it too. Those who 
not writ then, as they are now, promiscu- accuse him to have wanted learning, give 
ously, by the same person ; but he who 20 him the greater commendation : he was 
found his genius bending to the one, naturally learned; he needed not the 
never attempted the other way. This is spectacles of books to read nature; he 
so plain, that I need not instance to you looked inwards, and found her there. I 
that Aristophanes, Plautus, Terence, cannot say he is everywhere alike; were 
never, any of them, writ a tragedy ; 25 he so, I should do him injury to compare 
.^schylus, Euripides, Sophocles, and him with the greatest of mankind. He 
Seneca never meddled with comedy, is many times flat, insipid; his comic wit 
The sock and buskin were not worn by degenerating into clenches, his serious 
the same poet. Having, then, so much swelling into bombast. But he is al- 
care to excel in one kind, very little is 3° ways great, when some great occasion is 
to be pardoned them if they miscarried presented to him: no man can say, he 
in it. And this would lead me to the ever had a fit subject for his wit, and 
consideration of their wit, had not Crites did not then raise himself as high above 
given me sufficient warning not to be the rest of poets, 
too bold in my judgment of it; because, 35 

the languages being dead, and many of Quantum lenta solent inter viburna cup- 
the customs and little accidents on which ressi. 

it depended lost to us, we are not com- [As the cypresses tower above low-grow- 
petent judges of it. But though I grant ing shrubs.] 

that, here and there, we may miss the 40 

application of a proverb or a custom, yet The consideration of this made Mr. 
a thing well said will be wit in all Ian- Hales of Eton say, that there was no 
guages; and, though it may lose some- subject of which any poet ever writ, but 
thing in the translation, yet to him who he would produce it much better done in 
reads it in the original, 'tis still the 45 Shakspere; and however others are now 
same : he has an idea of its excellency, generally preferred before him, yet the 
though it cannot pass from his mind into age wherein he lived, which had con- 
any other expression or words than those temporaries with him, Fletcher and Jon- 
in which he finds it. son, never equaled them to him in their 

* * * 50 esteem : and in the last king's court, when 

As Neander was beginning to examine Ben's reputation was at highest, Sir 
The Silent Woman, Eugenius, earnestly John Suckling, and with him the greater 
regarding him: I beseech you, Neander part of the courtiers, set our Shakspere 
(said he), gratify the company, and me far above him. 

in particular, so far as, before you speak 55 Beaumont and Fletcher, of whom I am 
of the play, to give us a character of the next to speak, had with the advantage 
author; and tell us frankly your opinion, of Shakspere's wit, which was rtieir 
whether you do not think all writers, precedent, great natural gifts, improved 



AN ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 285 

by study; Beaumont especially being so him; but something of art was wanting 
accurate a judge of plays, that Ben Jon- to the drama, till he came. He managed 
son, while he lived, submitted all his writ- his strength to more advantage than any 
ings to his censure, and 't is thought, who preceded him. You seldom find him 
used his judgment in correcting, if not 5 making love in any of his scenes, or en- 
contriving all his plots. What value he deavoring to move the passions; his 
had for him, appears by the verses he genius was too sullen and saturnine to do 
writ to him; and therefore I need speak it gracefully, especially when he knew he 
no farther of it. The first play that came after those who had performed both 
brought Fletcher and him in esteem, was 10 to such a height. Humor was his 
their Philaster; for before that, they had proper sphere; and in that he delighted 
written two or three very unsuccessfully: most to represent mechanic people. He 
as the like is reported of Ben Jonson, was deeply conversant in the ancients, 
before he writ Every Man in his Humor, both Greek and Latin, and he borrowed 
Their plots were generally more regular 15 boldly from them : there is scarce a poet 
than Shakspere's, especially those which or historian among the Roman authors 
were made before Beaumont's death; of those times, whom he has not trans- 
and they understood and imitated the lated in Sejanus and Catiline. But he 
conversation of gentlemen much better ; has done his robberies so openly, that 
whose wild debaucheries, and quickness 20 one may see he fears not to be taxed by 
of wit in repartees, no poet before them any law. He invades authors like a 
could paint as they have done. Humor, monarch ; and what would be theft in 
which Ben Jonson derived from particu- other poets, is only victory in him. 
lar persons, they made it not their busi- With the spoils of these writers he so 
ness to describe ; they represented all 25 represents old Rome to us, in its rites, 
the passions very lively, but above all, ceremonies, and customs, that if one of 
love. I am apt to believe the English their poets had written either of his 
language in them arrived to its highest tragedies, we had seen less of it than in 
perfection; what words have since been him. If there was any fault in his Ian- 
taken in, are rather superfluous than 3° guage, it was, that he weaved it too 
ornamental. Their plays are now the closely and laboriously, in his comedies 
most pleasant and frequent entertain- especially: perhaps, too, he did a little 
ments of the stage; two of theirs being too much Romanize our tongue, leaving 
acted through the year for one of Shak- the words which he translated almost as 
spere's or Jonson's : the reason is, because 35 much Latin as he found them ; wherein, 
there is a certain gaiety in their come- though he learnedly followed their lan- 
dies, and pathos in their more serious guage, he did not enough comply with 
plays, which suits generally with all the idiom of ours. If I would compare 
men's humors. Shakspere's language is him with Shakspere, I must acknowledge 
likewise a little obsolete, and Ben Jon- 40 him the more correct poet, but Shak- 
son's wit comes short of theirs. spere the greater wit. Shakspere was the 

As for Jonson, to whose character I Homer, or father of our dramatic poets; 
am now arrived, if we look upon him Jonson was the Virgil, the pattern of 
while he was himself (for his last plays elaborate writing; I admire him, but I 
were but his dotages), I think him the 45 loVe Shakspere. To conclude of him; as 
most learned and judicious writer which he has given us the most correct plays, 
any theater ever had. He was a most so in the precepts which he has laid down 
severe judge of himself, as well as in his Discoveries, we have as many and 
others. One cannot say he wanted wit, profitable rules for perfecting the stage, 
but rather that he was frugal of it. In 50 as any wherewith the French can furnish 
his works you find little to retrench or us. 

alter. Wit and language, and humor * * * (1667) 

also in some measure, we had before 

55 



DANIEL DEFOE (1661-1731) 

Defoe was the son of a nonconformist butcher, and attended a dissenting school, where, 
according to his own account, he received a sound training in English and other modern 
languages as well as in the classics ; his master, Morton, was a man of advanced ideas in 
education, and afterwards became vice-president of Harvard University. Defoe took part in 
the rebellion of Monmouth, engaged unsuccessfully in trade, and welcomed the Revolution. 
When William III was attacked as a foreigner, Defoe took up his defence in a satirical poem, 
27ie True-born Englishman, which ran through twenty-one editions and was sold in thousands 
in the streets. He published a number of political pamphlets, and one of them. The Shortest 
Wai/ ivith the Dissenters, was so successful in its irony that ic deceived both parties into 
accepting it as a serious plea for high church principles. When it became known that the 
author was a dissenter and that the tract was really a plea for toleration, the high church 
party were furious at the fraud practised upon them, and the dissenters were too sore 
and bewildered to defend him. Defoe was fined, imprisoned, and condemned to be exposed 
to public derision in the pillory (1703). But the people covered the pillory with flowers, 
drank his health, and bought copies of his Hymn to the Pillory, in which he denounced his 
antagonists as ' scandals to the times,' who ' are at a loss to find his guilt, and can't commit his 
crimes.' Defoe was not kept long in prison, and in 170-1 he began the publication of the Review, 
which was continued till 1713 and marks an important advance in the development of journalism. 
As a journalist Defoe showed unwearied diligence, unsurpassed enterprise and resourcefulness, 
and a keen sense of popular interest. There are few features of the modern newspaper which are 
not represented in his writings. He wrote sometimes for one party, sometimes for another, 
and for some years he conducted Tory papers in the interests of the Whig government, by 
which he was employed in the secret service. His style is remarkably simple and direct, and 
the ' stories ' he invented can hardly be distinguished from genuine narratives. Of his numer- 
ous works, which would make a considerable library if reprinted, the one which has earned 
most enduring popularity is Robinson Crusoe (1720), a realistic autobiography of a sailor 
cast away upon a desolate island. It has been translated into almost every literary language 
and has been followed by countless imitations. 



From THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN 

A true born Englishman 's a contradiction ! 
In speech, an irony ; in fact, a fiction ! 
A banter made to be a test of fools ! 
Which those that use it, justly ridicules; 
A metaphor invented to express 5 

A man akin to all the universe ! 

For as the Scots, as learned men have said. 
Throughout the world their wandering seed 

have spread, 
So open-handed England, 't is believed. 
Has all the gleanings of the world received. 
Some think, of England 'twas, our Savior 

meant u 

The Gospel should, to all the world be sent. 
Since, when the blessed sound did hither 

reach, 
They to all nations might be said to preach. 



'T is well that virtue gives nobility; iS 

How shall we else the want of birth and 

blood supply? 
Since scarce one family is left alive, 
Which does not from some foreigner de- 
rive. 
Of sixty thousand English gentlemen 
Whose names and arms in registers remain, 
We challenge all our heralds to declare 21 
Ten families which English Saxons are ! 

France justly boasts the ancient noble line 
Of Bourbon, Montmorency, and Lorraine. 
The Germans, too, their House of Austria 
show, 23 

And Holland their invincible Nassau — 
Lines which in heraldry were ancient grown, 
Before the name of Englishman was known. 
Even Scotland, too, her elder glory shows ! 
Her Gordons, Hamiltons, and her Monroes ; 



286 



THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS 



287 



Douglas, Mackays, and Grahams, names 
well known 31 

Long before ancient England knew her 
own. 

But England, modern to the last degree. 
Borrows or makes her own nobility; 
And yet she boldly boasts of pedigree! 35 
Repines that foreigners are put upon her. 
And talks of her antiquity and honor ! 
Her S[ackvil]les, S[avi]les, C[eci]ls, Dela- 

[me]res, 
M[ohu]ns and M[ontag]ues, D[ura]s, and 

V[ee]res; 
Not one have English names, yet all are 

English peers ! 4° 

Your Houblons, Papillons, and Lethuliers 
Pass now for true born English knights 

and squires, 
And make good senate members, or lord 

mayors. 
Wealth (howsoever got) in England, makes 
Lords, of mechanics ! gentlemen, of rakes ! 
Antiquity and birth are needless here. 46 
'T is impudence and money make a p[ee]r! 
* * * 

THE CONCLUSION 

Then let us boast of ancestors no more. 
Or deeds of heroes done in days of yore, 
In latent records of the ages past, so 

Behind the rear of time, in long oblivion 

placed. 
For if our virtues must in lines descend. 
The merit with the families would end, 
And intermixtures would most fatal grow, 
For vice would be hereditary too; 55 

The tainted blood would of necessity. 
In voluntary wickedness convey! 

Vice, like ill-nature, for an age or two. 
May seem a generation to pursue : 
But virtue seldom does regard the breed, 6° 
Fools do the wise, and wise men fools suc- 
ceed. 
What is it to us, what ancestors we had? 
If good, what better? or what worse, if 

bad? 
Examples are for imitation set, 
Yet all men follow virtue with regret. 65 

Could but our ancestors retrieve their fate. 

And see their offspring thus degenerate ; 

How we contend for birth and names un- 
known, 

And build on their past actions, not our 
own ; 

They'd cancel records, and their tombs de- 
face, 70 



And openly disown the vile degenerate 

race ! 
For fame of families is all a cheat; 
'T is personal virtue only makes us great ! 

(1701) 

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE 
DISSENTERS 

Sir Roger L' Estrange tells us a story 
in his collection of Fables, of the cock 
and the horses. The cock was gotten to 
roost in the stable among the horses; 
and there being no racks or other con- 
veniences for him, it seems he was 
forced to roost upon the ground. The 
horses jostling about for room and put- 
ting the cock in danger of his life, he 
gives them this grave advice, ' Pray, 
gentlefolks ! let us stand still ! for fear 
we should tread upon one another ! ' 

There are some people in the world, 
who, now they are unperched, and re- 
duced to an equality with other people, 
and under strong and very just appre- 
hensions of being further treated as they 
deserve, begin with Esop's cock, to preach 
up peace and union and the christian 
duty of moderation ; forgetting that when 
they had the power in their hands, those 
graces were strangers in their gates ! 

It is now near fourteen years, that 
the glory and peace of the purest and 
most flourishing church in the world has 
been eclipsed, buffeted, and disturbed by 
a sort of men whom God in his provi- 
dence has suffered to insult over her, 
and bring her down. These have been 
the days of her humiliation and tribula- 
tion. She has borne with an invincible 
patience the reproach of the wicked; and 
God has at last heard her prayers, and 
delivered her from the oppression of the 
stranger. 

And now, they find their day is over, 
their power gone, and the throne of this 
nation possessed by a royal, English, 
true, and ever constant member of, and 
friend to, the Church of England. Now 
they find that they are in danger of the 
Church of England's just resentments. 
Now, they cry out, ' Peace ! ' ' Union ! ' 
' Forbearance ! ' and ' Charity I ' : as if the 
Church had not too long harbored her 
enemies under her wing, and nourished 
the viperous brood, till they hiss and fly 
in the face of the mother that cherished 
them ! 



DANIEL DEFOE 



No, gentlemen, the time of mercy is ecution of the known laws of the land, 
past, your day of grace is over, you and that with but a gentle hand neither, 
should have practised peace, and modera- was all that the fanatical party of this 
tion, and charity, if you expected any land have ever called persecution. This 
yourselves. 5 they have magnified to a height that the 

We have heard none of this lesson • sufferings of the Huguenots in France 
for fourteen years past. We have been were not to be compared with them, 
huffed and bullied with your Act of Tol- Now to execute the known laws of a 
eration. You have told us you are the nation upon those who transgress them. 
Church established by law, as well as 10 after having first been voluntarily con- 
others ; have set up your canting syna- senting to the making of those laws, can 
gogues at our church doors; and the never be called persecution, but justice. 
Church and her members have been But justice is always violence to the 
loaded with reproaches, with oaths, as- party offending, for every man is inno- 
sociations, abjurations, and what not ! 15 cent in his own eyes. 

Where has been the mercy, the forbear- The first execution of the laws against 
ance, the charity you have shown to Dissenters in England was in the days of 
tender consciences of the Church of Eng- King James I ; and what did it amount 
land that could not take oaths as fast to? Truly, the worst they suffered was, 
as you made them ; that, having sworn 20 at their own request, to let them go to 
allegiance to their lawful and rightful New England, and erect a new colony; 
king, could not dispense with that oath, and give them great privileges, grants, 
their king being still alive, and sv/ear and suitable powers ; keep them under 
to your new hodge-podge of a Dutch protection, and defend them against all 
government? These have been turned 25 invaders ; and receive no taxes or revenue 
out of their livings, and they and their from them ! 

families left to starve; their estates This was the cruelty of the Church of 

double taxed to carry on a war they had England. Fatal lenity! It was the ruin 
no hand in, and you got. nothing by! of that excellent prince. King Charles I. 

What account can you give of the 3° Had King James sent all the Puritans in 
multitudes you have forced to comply, England away to the West Indies, we had . 
against their consciences, with your new been a national unmixed church. The 
fjophistical politics, who, like new con- Church of England had been kept un- 
verts in France, sin because they can- divided and entire ! 

not starve ? And now the tables are 35 To requite the lenity of the father, they 
f.urned upon you, you must not be per- take up arms against the son, conquer, 
secuted ! It is not a christian spirit ! pursue, take, imprison, and at last put 

You have butchered one king, deposed to death the anointed of God, and destroy 
another king, and made a mock king the very being and nature of government : 
of a third, and yet, you could have the 40 setting up a sordid impostor, who had 
face to expect to be employed and trusted neither title to govern, nor understand- 
by the fourth ! Anybody that did not ing to manage, but supplied that want, 
know the temper of your party, would with power, bloody and desperate coun- 
stand amazed at the impudence as well sels and craft, without conscience, 
as the folly to think of it ! 45 Had not King James I withheld _ the 

Your management of your Dutch mon- full execution of the laws: had he given 
sarch, whom you reduced to a mere King them strict justice, he had cleared the 
of Clubs, is enough to give any future nation of them ! And the consequences 
princes such an idea of your principles had been plain; his son had never been 
as to warn them sufficiently from com- 50 murdered by them, nor the monarchy 
ing into your clutches; and, God be overwhelmed. It was too much mercy 
thanked, the Queen is out of your hands, shown them that was the ruin of_ his 
knows you, and will have a care of you! posterity, and the ruin of the nation's 

There is no doubt but the supreme peace. One would think the Dissenters 
authority of a nation has in itself a 55 should not have the face to believe that 
power, and a right to that power, we are to be wheedled and canted into 
to execute the laws upon any part peace and toleration, when they know 
of that nation it governs. The ex- that they have once requited us with a 



THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS u6^ 

civil war, and once with an intolerable mistaken prince, thinking to win them by 
and unrighteous persecution, for our gentleness and love, proclaimed a uni- 
former civility. versal liberty to them, and rather dis- 

Nay, to encourage us to be easy with countenanced the Church of England 
them, it is apparent that they never had 5 than them. How they requited him, all 
the upper hand of the Church but they the world knows ! 

treated her with all the severity, with all The late reign is too fresh in the mem- 

the reproach and contempt as was pos- ory of all the world to need a comment, 
sible ! What peace and what mercy did How under pretense of joining with the 
they show the loyal gentry of the Church lo Church in redressing some grievances, 
of England, in the time of their trium- they pushed things to that extremity, in 
phant Commonwealth? How did they conjunction with some mistaken gentle- 
put all the gentry of England to ran- men, as to depose the late king; as if 
som, whether they were actually in arms the grievance of the nation could not 
for the king or not, making people com- 15 have been redressed but by the absolute 
pound for their estates, and starve their ruin of the prince. 

families ! How did they treat the clergy Here is an instance of their temper, 

of the Church of England, sequester the their peace, and charity ! 
ministers, devour the patrimony of the To what height they carried them- 

Church and divide the spoil, by sharing 20 selves during the reign of a king of their 
the Church lands among their soldiers, own, how they crept into all places of 
and turning her clergy out to- starve! trust and profit; how they insinuated 
Just such measure as they have meted, themselves into the favor of the king, and 
should be measured to them again ! were at first preferred to the highest 

Charity and love is the known doctrine 2s places in the nation, how they engrossed 
of the Church of England, and it is plain the ministry ; and, above all, how pit- 
she has put it in practise towards the ifuUy they managed, is too plain to need 
Dissenters, even beyond what they ought, any remarks. 

till shGj^has been wanting to herself, and But particularly, their mercy and char- 

in efl^'ect unkind to her own sons ; par- 3o ity, the spirit of union they tell us so 
ticularly, in the too much lenity of King much "of, has been remarkable in Scot- 
James I, mentioned before. Had he so land. If any man would see the spirit of 
rooted the Puritans from the face of a Dissenter, let him look into Scotland, 
the land, which he had an opportunity There, they made entire conquest of the 
early to have done, they had not had 35 Church, trampled down the sacred or- 
the power to vex the Church, as since ders and suppressed the episcopal gov- 
they have done. ernment, with an absolute, and, as they 

In the days of King Charles II, how supposed, irretrievable victory ; though it 
did the Church reward their bloody do- is possible they may find themselves mis- 
ings with lenity and mercy ! Except the 40 taken ! 

barbarous regicides of the pretended Now it would be a very proper ques- 

court of justice, not a soul suffered for tion to ask their impudent advocate, the 
all the blood in an unnatural war. King Observator, ' Pray how much mercy and 
Charles came in all mercy and love, favor did the members of the Episcopal 
cherished them, preferred them, em- 45 Church find in Scotland from the 
ployed them, withheld the rigor of the Scotch Presbyterian government?' And 
law and oftentimes, even against the I shall undertake for the Church of Eng- 
advice of his Parliament, gave them lib- land, that the Dissenters shall still re- 
erty of conscience; and how did they ceive as much here, though they de 
requite him ? With the villainous con- 5° serve but little. 

trivance to depose and murder him and In a small treatise of The Sufferings 

his successor, at the Rye House Plot ! of the Episcopal Clergy in Scotland, it 

King James II, as if mercy was the will appear what visage they met with, 
inherent quality of the family, began his How they not only lost their livings; 
reign with unusull favor to them. Nor 55 but, in several places, were plundered 
could their joining with the Duke of and abused in their persons, the ministers 
Monmouth against him, move him to do that could not conform, were turned out, 
himself justice upon them. But that with numerous families and no mainte- 



290 



DANIEL DEFOE 



nance, and hardly charity enough left to 
relieve them with a bit of bread. The 
cruelties of the party were innumerable, 
and are not to be attempted in this short 
piece. 

And now, to prevent the distant cloud 
which they perceive to hang over their 
heads from England, with a true Presby- 
terian policy, they put in for a union of 
nations — that England might unite their 
Church with the Kirk of Scotland, and 
their assembly of Scotch canting long- 
cloaks in our convocation. What might 
haA^e been, if our fanatic Whiggish states- 
men continued, God only knows; but we 
hope we are out of fear of that now. 

It is alleged by some of the faction, 
and they have begun to bully us with it, 
that ' if we won't unite with them, they 
will not settle the Crown with us again ; 
but when her Majesty dies, will choose a 
king for themselves ! ' 

If they won't, we must make them; 
and it is not the first time we have let 
them know that we are able. The 
crowns of these kingdoms have not so 
far disowned the right of succession, but 
they may retrieve it again; and if Scot- 
land thinks to come off from a succes- 
sive to an elective state of government, 
England has not promised, not to as- 
sist the right heir, and put him into pos- 
session, without any regards to their 
ridiculous settlements. 

These are the gentlemen ! these, their 
ways of treating the Church, both at home 
and abroad ! 

Now let us examine the reasons they 
oretend to give, why we should be favor- 
able to them; why we should continue 
and tolerate them among us. 

First. They are very numerous, they 
say. They are a great part of the nation, 
and we cannot suppress them ! 

To this, may be answered: 

First. They are not so. numerous as the 
Protestants in France : and yet the 
French king effectually cleared the na- 
tion of them at once; and we don't find 
he misses them at home ! 

But I am not of the opinion they are so 
numerous as is pretended. Their party 
is more numerous than their persons ; and 
those mistaken people of the Church who 
are misled and deluded by their wheedling 
artifices to join with them, make their 
party the greater: but those will open 
their eyes when the government shall set 



heartily about the work, and come off 
from them, as some animals, which they 
say, always desert a house when it is 
likely to fall. 
5 Secondly. The more numerous, the 
more dangerous; and therefore the more 
need to suppress them ; and God has suf- 
fered us to bear them as goads in our 
sides, for not utterly extinguishing them 

10 long ago. 

Thirdly. If we are to allow them, only 
because we cannot suppress them; then it 
ought to be tried, whether we can or not? 
And I am of opinion it is easy to be 

15 done, and could prescribe ways and means, 
if it were proper: but I doubt not the 
government will find effectual methods 
for the rooting of the contagion from the 
face of this land. 

20 Another argument they use, which is 
this. That this is a time of war, and 
we have need to unite against the com- 
rhon enemy. 

We answer, this common enemy had 

25 been no enemy, if they had not made 
him so. He was quiet, in peace, and no 
way disturbed and encroached upon us ; 
and we know no reason we had to quar- 
rel with him. 

3° But further. We make no question 
but we are able to deal with this com- 
mon enemy without their help : but why 
must we unite with them, because of the 
enemy? Will they go over to the enemy, 

35 if we do not prevent it, by a union with 
them? We are very well contented they 
should, and make no question, we shall 
be ready to deal with them and the com- 
mon enemy too ; and better without them 

4° than with them. Besides, if we have a 
common enemy, there is the more need 
to be secure against our private enemies. 
If there is one common enemy, we have 
the less need to have an enemy in our 

45 bowels ! 

It was a great argument some people 
used against suppressing the old money, 
that * it was a time of war, and it was 
too great a risk for the nation to run. 

5° If we should not master it, we should be 
undone ! ' And yet the sequel proved the 
hazard was not so great, but it might be 
mastered, and the success was answer- 
able. The suppressing the Dissenters is 

55 not a harder work, nor a work of less 
necessity to the public. We can never 
enjoy a settled, uninterrupted union and 
tranquillity in this nation, till the spirit 



THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS 291 

of Whiggism, faction, and schism is senters, and therefore it is time enough, 
mehed down Hke the old money ! But this is a weak answer. For first : 

To talk of difficulty is to frighten our- if the danger be real, the distance of it 
selves with chimeras and notions of a is no argument against, but rather a spur 
powerful party, which are indeed a party 5 tp quicken us to prevention, lest it be too 
without power. Difficulties often appear late hereafter. 

greater at a distance than when they are And secondly: here is the opporttmity, 

searched into with judgment, and dis- and* the only one, perhaps, that ever the 
tinguished from the vapors and shadows Church had to secure herself and destroy 
that attend them. 10 her enemies. 

We are not to be frightened with it! The representatives of the nation have 

This age is wiser than that, by all our now an opportunity. The time is come 
own experience, and theirs too ! King which all good men have wished for, 
Charles I had early suppressed this party, that the gentlemen of England may serve 
if he had taken more deliberate measures. 15 the Church of England, now they are 
In short, it is not worth arguing, to talk protected and encouraged by a Church of 
of their arms. Their Monmouths and England queen ! 

Shaftesburys and Argyles are gone ! What will you do for your sister in the 

Their Dutch sanctuary is at an end! day that she shall be spoken for? 
Heaven has made way for their destruc- 20 If ever you will establish the best chris- 
tion, and if we do not close with the tian church in the world ; if ever you will 
divine occasion, we are to blame our- suppress the spirit of enthusiasm; if ever 
selves ! and may hereafter remember that you will free the nation from the viperous 
we had, once, an opportunity to serve the brood that have so long sucked the blood 
Church of England, by extirpating her 25 of their mother ; if ever you will leave 
implacable enemies; and having let slip your posterity free from faction and re- 
the minute that Heaven presented, may bellion, this is the time ! This is the time 
experimentally complain, post est occasio to pull up this heretical weed of sedition, 
calva [opportunity is bald behind]. that has so long disturbed the peace of 

Here are some popular objections in 3° the Church, and poisoned the good corn ! 
the way. But, says another hot and cold objector. 

As first, the queen has promised this is renewing fire and faggot, reviv- 
them to continue them in their tolerated ing the Act, de heretico comhtirendo [for 
liberty; and has told us she will be a the burning of heretics]. This will be 
religious observer of her word. 35 cruelty in its nature, and barbarous to all 

What her Majesty will do we cannot the world, 
help, but what, as the head of the Church, I answer, it is cruelty to kill a snake 

she ought to do, is another case. Her or a toad in cold blood, but the poison of 
Majesty has promised to protect and de- their nature makes it a charity to our 
fend the Church of England, and if she 40 neighbors to destroy those creatures, not 
cannot effectually do that without the for any personal injury received, but for 
destruction of the Dissenters, she must, prevention ; not for the evil they have 
of course, dispense with one promise to done, but the evil they may do. Serpents, 
comply with another. toads, vipers, etc., are noxious to the 

But to answer this cavil more effectu- 45 body, and poison the sensitive life: these 
ally. Her Majesty did never promise to poison the soul, corrupt our posterity, en- 
maintain the toleration to the destruction snare our children, destroy the vitals of 
of the Church; but it was upon supposi- our happiness, our future felicity, and 
tion that it may be compatible with the contaminate the whole mass ! 
well-being and safety of the Church, 5o Shall any law be given to such wild 
which she had declared she would take creatures? Some beasts are for sport, 
especial care of. Now if these two in- and the huntsmen give them the advan- 
terests clash, it is plain her Majesty's tages of ground, but some are knocked on 
mtentions are to uphold, protect, defend, the head by all possible ways of violence 
and estabHsh the Church; and this, we S5 and surprise, 
conceive, is impossible. I do not prescribe fire and faggot; but 

Perhaps it may be said, that the Church as Scipio said of Carthage, Delenda est 
IS m no immediate danger from the Dis- Carthago [Carthage must be destroyed] ! 



292 DANIEL DEFOE 



they are to be rooted out of this nation, fines were the reward of going to a con- 
if ever we will live in peace, serve God, venticle to preach or hear, there would 
or enjoy our own. As for the manner, not be so many sufferers. The spirit of 
I leave it to those hands who have a right martyrdom is over. They that will go to 
to execute God's justice on the nation's 5 church to be chosen sheriffs and mayors, 
and the Church's enemies. would go to forty churches rather than be 

But if we must be frighted from this hanged ! 
justice, under these specious pretenses, If one severe law were made and punc- 

and odious sense of cruelty, nothing will tually executed that whoever was found 
be effected. It will be more barbarous jo at a conventicle should be banished the 
to our own children and dear posterity, nation, and the preacher be hanged, we 
when they shall reproach their fathers, should soon see an end of the tale. They 
as we ours, and tell us, ' You had an op- would all come to church again, and one 
portunity to root out this cursed race age would make us all one again, 
from the world under the favor and pro- 1- To talk of five shillings a month for 
tection of a true Church of England not coming to the sacrament, and one 
queen, and out of your foolish pity, you shilling per week, for not coming _ to 
spared them, because, forsooth, you would church : this is such a way of converting 
not be cruel! And now our Church is people as was never known. This is 
suppressed and persecuted, our religion ^^ selling them a liberty to transgress, for so 
trampled under foot, our estates plun- much money. 

dered, our persons imprisoned, and If it be not a crime, why don't we give 

dragged to gaols, gibbets, and scaffolds ! them full license ? And if it be, no price 
Your sparing this Amalekite race is our ought to compoimd for the committing of 
destruction ! Your mercy to them proves 25 it, for that is selling a liberty to people 
cruelty to your poor posterity ! ' to sin against God and the government. 

How just will such reflections be when If it be a crime of the highest conse- 

our posterity shall fall under the merciless quence, both against the peace and wel- 
clutches of this uncharitable generation; fare of the nation, the glory of God, the 
when our Church shall be swallowed up 30 good of the Church, and the happiness of 
in schism, faction, enthusiasm, and confu- the soul, let us rank it among capital 
sion; when our government shall be de- offenses, and let it receive a punishment 
volved upon foreigners, and our mon- in proportion to it. 

archy dwindled into a republic ! We hang men for trifles, and banish 

It would be more rational for t:s, if we 35 them for things not worth naming; but 
must spare this generation, to summon that an offense against God and the 
our own to a general massacre ; and as we Church, against the welfare of the world, 
have brought them into the world free, to and the dignity of religion shall be bought 
send them' out so; and not betray them to off for five shillings: this is such a shame 
destruction by our supine negligence, and 40 to a Christian government that it is with 
then cry, ' It is mercy ! ' regret I transmit it to posterity. 

Moses was a. merciful meek man; and If men sin against God, affront his 

yet with what fury did he run through the ordinances, rebel against his church, and 
camp, and cut the throats of three and disobey the precepts of their superiors; 
thirty thousand of his dear Israelites that 4S let them suffer, as such capital crimes 
were fallen into idolatry. What was the deserve. So will religion flourish, and 
reason? It was mercy to the rest, to this divided nation be once again united, 
make these examples, to prevent the de- And yet the title of barbarous and 

struction of the whole army. cruel will soon be taken off from this law 

How many millions of future souls we 50 too. I am not supposing that all the Dis- 
save from infection and delusion, if the senters in England should be hanged or 
present race of poisoned spirits were banished. But as in case of rebellions 
purged from the face of the land! and insurrections, if a few of the ring- 

It is vain to trifle in this matter. The leaders suffer, the multitude are dis- 
Hght foolish handling of them by mulcts, 55 missed; so a few obstinate people being 
fines, etc. ; 't is their glory and their ad- made examples, there is no doubt but the 
vantage ! If the gallows instead of the severity of the law would find a stop in 
counter, and the galleys instead of the the compliance of the multitude. 



THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DISSENTERS 293 

To make the reasonableness of this it is our own fault if ever we suffer them 
matter out of question, and more unan- to be so. Providence and the Church of 
swerably plain, let us examine for what it England seem to join in this particular, 
is that this nation is divided into parties that now the destroyers of the nation's 
and factions ; and let us see how they can 5 peace may be overturned ; and to this end, 
justify a separation; or we of the Church the present opportunity seems to put into 
of England can justify our bearing- the our hands, 
insults and inconveniences of the party. To this end, her present Majesty seems 

One of their leading pastors, and a man reserved to enjoy the crown, that the 
of as much learning as most among them, 10 ecclesiastic as well as civil rights of the 
in his Answer to a pamphlet entitled nation may be restored by her hand. 
An Enquiry into the Occasional Con- To this end, the face of affairs has re- 

formity, hath these words, p. 27 : — ' Do ceived such a turn in the process of a few 
the religion of the Church and the meet- months as never has been before. The 
ing houses make two religions ? Wherein ij leading men of the nation, the universal 
do they differ? The substance of the cry of the people, the unanimous request 
same religion is common to them both, of the clergy agree in this, that the de- 
and the modes and accidents are the liverance of our Church is at hand ! 
things in which only they differ.' P. 28 : For this end, has Providence given 

— ' Thirty-nine Articles are given us for 20 such a parliament, such a convoca- 
the summary of our religion ; thirty-six tion, such a gentry, and such a queen, as 
contain the substance of it wherein we we never had before, 
agree ; three are additional appendices. And what may be the consequences of 

about which we have some differences.' a neglect of such opportunities ? The 

Now, if, as by their own acknowledg- 25 succession of the crown has but a dark 
ment, the Church of England is a true prospect. Another Dutch turn may make 
church, and the difference is only in a the hopes of it ridiculous, and the prac- 
few ' modes and accidents,' why should tice impossible. Be the house of our 
we expect that they will suffer the gal- future princes ever so well inclined, they 
lows and galleys, corporal punishment and 30 will be foreigners. Many years will be 
banishment, for these trifles? There is spent in suiting the genius of strangers 
no question, but they will be wiser. Even to this crown, and the interests of the 
their own principles won't bear them out nation ; and how many ages it may be be- 
in it. fore the English throne be filled with so 

They will certainly comply with the 35 much zeal and candor, so much tender- 
laws, and with reason. And though, at ness and hearty affection to the Church, 
the first, severity may seem hard, the next as we see it now covered with, who can 
age will feel nothing of it ; the contagion imagine ? 

will be rooted out. The disease being It is high time, then, for the friends 

cured, there will be no need of the opera- 40 of the Church of England to think of 
tion. But if they should venture to trans- building up and establishing her in such 
gress, and fall into the pit, all the world a manner that she may be no more in- 
must condemn their obstinacy, as being vaded by foreigners, nor divided by fac- 
without ground from their own prin- tions, schisms, and error, 
ciples. 45 If this could be done by gentle and easy 

Thus the pretense of cruelty will be methods, I should be glad : but the wound 
taken off, and the party actually sup- is corroded, the vitals begin to mortify, 
pressed, and the disquiets they have so and nothing but amputation of members 
often brought upon the nation, prevented, can complete the cure. All the ways of 

Their numbers and their wealth make 50 tenderness and compassion, all persuasive 
them haughty; and that is so far from arguments have been made use of in 
being an argument to persuade us to for- vain. 

bear them, that it is a warning to us. The humor of the Dissenters has so in- 

without any more delay, to reconcile them creased among the people, that they hold 
to the unity of the Church, or remove 55 the Church in defiance, and the house of 
them from us. God is an abomination among them. 

At present, Heaven be praised ! they are Nay, they have brought up their posterity 
not so formidable as they have been, and in such prepossessed aversion to our holy 



294 DANIEL DEFOE 



religion, that the ignorant mob think we up a standard against pride and Anti- 
are all idolaters and worshippers of christ, that the posterity of the sons of 
Baal, and account it a sin to come within error may be rooted out from the face 
the walls of our churches. The primitive of this land, for ever ! 
christians were not more shy of a heathen 5 (^702) 

temple, or of meat offered to idols, nor 
the Jews of swine's flesh, than some of 

our Dissenters are of the church and the PREFACE TO THE FIRST VOLUME 
divine service solemnized therein. OF THE REVIEW 

The obstinacy must be rooted out, with 10 
the profession of it. While the genera- When authors present their works to 

ticm are left at liberty daily to affront the world, like a thief at the gallows, 
God Almighty, and dishonor his holy they make a speech to the people, 
worship, we are wanting in our duty to The author, indeed, has something like 

God, and to our mother, the Church of 15 this to say, too, ' Good people all, take 
England. warning by me ! ' I have studied to in- 

How can we answer it to God, to the form and to direct the world, and what 
Church, and to our posterity, to leave have I had for my labor? 
them entangled with fanaticism, error. Profit, the press would not allow; and 

and obstinacy, in the bowels of the na- 20 therein I am not -deceived, for I expected 
tion; to leave them an enemy in their none. But good manners and good Ian- 
streets, that, in time, may involve them guage, I thought I might expect, because 
in the same crimes, and endanger the I gave no other; and it were but just to 
utter extirpation of the religion of the treat mankind as we would be treated by 
nation. 25 them. But neither has this been paid 

What is the difference betwixt this, me, in debt to custom and civility, 
and being subject to the power of the How often have my ears, my hands, 

Church of Rome, from whence we have and my head been to be pulled off ! Im- 
reformed. If one be an extreme to the potent bullies ! that attacked by truth, and 
one hand, and one on another, it is 30 their vices stormed, fill the air with 
equally destructive to the truth to have rhodom.ontades and indecencies; but 
errors settled among us, let them be of never show their faces to the resentment 
what nature they will. Both are enemies truth had a just cause to entertain for 
of our Church, and of our peace; and them. 

why should it not be as criminal to admit 35 I have passed through clouds of 
an enthusiast as a Jesuit? Why should clamor, cavil, raillery, and objection; and 
the papist with his seven sacraments be have this satisfaction, that truth being 
worse than the Quaker with no sacra- the design. Finis coronat [The end 
ments at all ? Why should religious crowns the work] ! 

houses be more intolerable than meeting 40 I am never forward to value my own 
houses? performances. 'Let another man's mouth 

Alas, the Church of England ! What praise thee ! ' said the Wise Man ; but I 
with popery on one hand, and schismat- cannot but own myself infinitely pleased, 
ics on the other, how has she been and more than satisfied that wise men read 
crucified between two thieves. Now, let 45 this paper with pleasure, own the just ob- 
us crucify the thieves! servations in it, and have voted it useful. 

Let her foundations be established The first design I allow is not yet pur- 

upon the destruction of her enemies! sued, and indeed I must own the field is 
The doors of mercy being always open to so large, the design so vast, and the 
the returning part of the deluded people, 50 necessary preliminaries so many that 
let the obstinate be ruled with the rod of though I cannot yet pass for an old man, 
iron ! I must be so, if I live to go through with 

Let all true sons of so holy and op- it. 
pressed a mother, exasperated by her This volume has passed through my 

afflictions, harden their hearts against 55 descriptions of the French grandeur, with 
those who have oppressed her. its influence on the affairs of Poland, 

And may God Almighty put it into the Sweden, and Hungary. What assaults 
hearts of all the friends of truth, to lift have I met with from the impatience of 



PREFACE TO THE REVIEW 295 

the readers; what uneasiness of friends, wilderness of a subject so large that I 
lest I was turned about to the enemy; I know not where it will end. The mis- 
leave to their reading the sheets to dis- fortune of which is, that thinking to have 
cover. finished it with this volume, I found my- 

How is this age unqualified to bear 5 self strangely deceived, and indeed 
feeling truth, how unwilling to hear what amazed, when I found the story of it 
we do not like, though ever so necessary intended to be the end of this volume, 
to know ! and hardly enough of it entered upon to 

And yet if this French monarchy were say it is begun, 
not very powerful, vastly strong, its 10 However, the volume being of neces- 
power terrible, its increasing encroach- sity to be closed, I am obliged to content 
ing measures formidable ; why do we myself with taking what is here as an 
(and justly too) applaud, extol, con- introduction to the next volume; and to 
gratulate, and dignify the victorious give this notice, that the matter of our 
Duke of Marlborough at such a rate? If 15 English trade appears to be a thing of 
it had been a mean and contemptible such consequence to be treated of, so 
enemy, how shall we justify the English much pretended to, and so little under- 
army's march through so many hazards; stood, that nothing could be more profit- 
the nation's vast charge; the daily just able to the readers, more advantageous to 
concern in every article of this war; 20 the public interest of this nation, or more 
and (as I have frequently hinted), why suitable to the greatness of this undertak- 
not beat them, all this while? ing, than to make an essay at the evils, 

They who have made, or may make, an causes, and remedies of our general 
ill use of the true plan of French great- negoce. 

ness, which I have laid down, must place 25 I have been confirmed in my opinion of 
it to the account of their own corrupted the consequences and benefit of this un- 
prejudiced thoughts. My design is plain dertaking by a crowd of entreaties from 
— to tell you the strength of your enemy, persons of the best judgment, and some 
that you may fortify yourselves in due of extraordinary genius in these affairs; 
proportion, and not go out with your ten 3° whose letters are my authority for this 
thousands against his twenty thousands. clause, and whose arguments are too 

In like manner, I think myself very forcible for me to resist, 
oddly handled in the case of the Swedes And this is to me a sufficient apology 

and the Hungarians. How many com- for a vast digression from the affairs of 
plaints of ambassadors for the one, and 35 France, which were really in my first de- 
of fellow Protestants for the other ! sign, and to which my title at first too 
And yet, after the whole story is finished, straitly bound me. 

I have this felicity (than which no Whoever shall live to see this under- 

author can desire a greater) viz., not one taking finished, if the author (or some 
thing I ever affirmed, but was exactly 40 better pen after him) shall bring 20 or 30 
true; not one conjecture have I made, but volumes of this work on the stage, it will 
has appeared to be rational; not one in- not look so preposterous as it seems now 
ference drawn, but the consequences have to have one whole volume to be employed 
proved just; and not one thing guessed on the most delightful as well as profit- 
at, but what has come to pass. 45 able subject of the English trade. 

I am now come home to England, and Things at short distance look large, 

entered a little into our own affairs. In- and public patience is generally very 
deed, I have advanced some things as to short; but when remote, the case alters, 
trade, navies, seamen, etc., which some and people see the reason of things in 
may think a little arrogant, because per- 5° themselves. It is this remote prospect of 
fectly new. But as I have offered noth- affairs which I have before me. And 
ing but what I am always ready to make this makes me not so much regard the 
appear practicable, I finish my apology uneasiness people show at the story be- 
by saying to the world, ' Bring me to the ing frequently broken abruptly, and run- 
test; and the rest, I leave to time.' 55 ning. great lengths before it revolves upon 

In the bringing the story of France itself again ; but as time and the course 
down to the matter of trade, I confess of things will bring all about again, and 
myself surprisingly drawn into a vast make the whole to be of a piece with 



296 DANIEL DEFOE 



itself, I am content to wait the approba- When I first found the design of this 

tion of the readers, till such time as the paper (which had its birth in tenehris) 
thing- itself forces it from the at present [in darkness], I considered it would be 
impatient readers. a thing very historical, very long; and 

Readers are strange judges when they 5 though it could be much better performed 
see but part of the design. It is a new than ever I was likely to do it, this age 
thing for an author to lay down his had such natural aversion to a solemn 
thoughts piece-meal. Importunate cavils and tedious affair, that however profit- 
assault him every day. They claim to be able, it would never be diverting, and 
answered to-day ! before to-morrow ! and 10 the world would never read it. 
are so far from staying till the story is To get over this difficulty, the secret 

finished, that they can hardly stay till hand (I make no doubt) that directed this 
their letters come to hand, but follow the birth into the world, dictated to make 
first with a second, that with clamor, and some sort of entertainment or amusement 
this sometimes with threatening scoffs, 15 at the end of every paper, upon the im- 
banters, and raillery! mediate subject, then on the tongues of 

Thus I am letter-baited by querists ; the town — which innocent diversion 
and I think my trouble in writing civil would hand on the more weighty and 
private answers to teasing and querulous serious part of the design into the heads 
epistles, has been equal to, if not more 20 and thoughts of those to whom it might 
troublesome than, all the rest of this be useful. 

work. Through these difficulties I steer I take this opportunity to assure the 

with as much temper and steadiness world that receiving or answering letters 
as I can. I still hope to give satisfaction of doubts, difficulties, cases, and ques- 
in the conclusion; and it is this alone that 25 tions, as it is a work I think myself very 
makes the continuing of the work toler- meanly qualified for, so it was the re- 
able to me. If I cannot, I have made my motest thing from my first design of any- 
essay. thing in the world ; and I could be 

If those that know these things better heartily glad, if the readers of this paper 
than I would bless the world with further 3° would excuse me from it yet. But I see 
instructions, I shall be glad to see them, it cannot be, and the world will have it 
and very far from interrupting or dis- done. I have therefore done my best to 
couraging them, as these do me. oblige them ; but as I have not one word 

Let not those gentlemen who are to say for my performance that way, so 
critics in style, in method, or manner, be 35 I leave it where I found it, a mere cir- 
angry, that I have never pulled off my cumstance casually and undesignedly an- 
cap to them, in humble excuse for my nexed to the work, and a curiosity, 
loose way of treating the world as to though honestly endeavored to be com- 
language, expression, and politeness of plied with. 

phrase. Matters of this nature differ 4° If the method I have taken in answer- 
from most things a man can write. ing questions has pleased some wiser men 
When I am busied writing essays and more than I expected it would, I confess 
matters of science, I shall address them it is one of the chief reasons why I was 
for their aid, and take as much care to induced to continue it. 
avoid their displeasure as becomes me ; 45 I have constantly adhered to this rule 
but when I am upon the subject of trade in all my answers (and I refer my reader 
and the variety of casual story, I think to his observation for the proof), that 
myself a little loose from the bonds of from the loosest and lightest questions, I 
cadence and perfections of style, and sat- endeavor to draw some useful inferences, 
isfy myself in my study to be explicit, 50 and, if possible, to introduce something 
easy, free, and very plain. And for all solid, and something solemn in applying 
the rest. Nee careo, nee euro [I neither it. The custom of the ancients in writing 
need it, nor pay attention ta it] ! fables is my very laudable pattern for 

I had a design to say something on the this ; and my firm resolution, in all I 
entertaining part of this paper; but I 55 write, to exalt virtue, expose vice, pro- 
have so often explained myself on that mote truth, and help men to serious re- 
head, that I shall not trouble the world flection, is my first moving cause, and 
much about it. last directed end. 



THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN 



297 



If any shall make ill use of, wrest, that they should think it a necessary 

wrongly interpret, wilfully or otherwise ornament to a woman? or how much 

mistake the honest design of this work; worse is a wise woman than a fool? or 

let such wait for the end, when I doubt what has the woman done to forfeit the 

not, the author will be cleared by their 5 privilege of being taught? Does she 

own vote, their want of charity will ap- plague us with her pride and imperti- 

pear, and they be self-condemned till they nence? Why did we not let her learn, 

come to acknowledge their error, and that she might have had more wit? 

openly to justify Shall we upbraid women with folly, when 

Their humble servant, D. F. 10 'tis only the error of this inhuman cus- 

(1705) torn that hindered them from being made 

wiser? 

The capacities of women are sup- 

THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN posed to be greater, and their senses 

FROM AN ESSAY UPON PROJECTS '^ quicker than those of the men; and what 

they might be capable of being bred to, 

I have often thought of it as one of is plain from some instances of female 
the most barbarous customs in the world, wit, which this age is not without, 
considering us as a civilized and a chris- which upbraids us with injustice, and 
tian country, that we deny the advantages 20 looks as if we denied women the advan- 
^f learning to women. We reproach the tages of education, for fear they should 
sex every day with folly and imperti- vie with the men in their improve- 
nence ; while I am confident, had they the ments. . . . 

advantages of education equal to us, they They should be taught all sorts of 

would be guilty of less than ourselves. 25 breeding suitable both to their genius 

One would wonder, indeed, how it and quality. And in particular, music 
should happen that women are conver- and dancing, which it would be cruelty 
sible at all, since they are only beholden to bar the sex of because they are their 
to natural parts for all their knowledge, darlings. But- besides this, they should 
Their youth is spent to teach them to 30 be taught languages, as particularly 
stitch and sew, or make baubles. They French and Italian, and I would venture 
are taught to read, indeed, and perhaps the injury of giving a woman more 
to write their names, or so; and that is tongues than one. They should, as a 
the height of a woman's education. And particular study, be taught all the graces 
I M'ould but ask any who slight the sex 35 of speech, and all the necessary air of 
for their understanding, what is a man conversation, which our common educa- 
(a gentleman, I mean) good for, that is tion is so defective in that I need not ex- 
taught no more? I need not give in- pose it. They should be brought to read 
stances, or examine the character of a books, and especially history; and so to 
gentleman, with a good estate, of a good ^o read as to make them understand the 
family, and with tolerable parts; and ex- world, and be able to know and judge 
amine what figure he makes for want of of things when they hear of them, 
education. To such whose genius would lead them 

The soul is placed in the body like a to it, I would deny no sort of learning; 
rough diamond, and must be polished, or 45 but the chief thing, in general, is to cul- 
the luster of if will never appear. And tivate the understandings of the sex, that 
'tis manifest, that as the rational soul they may be capable of all sorts of con- 
distinguishes us from brutes, so educa- versation; that their parts and judgments 
tion carries on the distinction, and makes being improved, they may be as profitable 
some less brutish than others. This is 5° in their conversation as they are pleas- 
too evident to need any demonstration, ant. 

But why then should women be denied Women, in my observation, have little 

the benefit of instruction? If knowledge or no diiiference in them, but as they are 
and understanding had been useless addi- or are not distinguished by education, 
tions to the sex, God Almighty would 55 Tempers, indeed, may in some degree in- 
never have given them capacities; for he fluence them, but the main distinguishing 
made nothing needless. Besides, I would part is their breeding, 
ask such, what they can see in ignorance. The whole sex are generally quick and 



295 



DANIEL DEFOE 



sharp I believe, I may be allowed to which is seen in the world between men 

say, generally so: for you rarely see and women, is in their education; and 
them lumpish and heavy when they are this is manifested by comparing it with 
children, as boys will often be. If a the difference between one man or 
woman be well bred, and taught the 5 woman, and another, 
proper management of her natural wit, And herein it is that I take upon me to 

she proves generally very sensible and re- make such a bold assertion, that all the 
tentive. world are mistaken in their practice about . 

And, without partiality, a woman of women. For I cannot think that God 
sense and manners is the finest and most 10 Almighty ever made them so delicate, so 
delicate part of God's creation, the glory glorious creatures, and furnished them 
of her Maker, and the great instance of with such charms, so agreeable and so 
his singular regard to man, his darling delightful to mankind, with souls capable 
creature, to whom he gave the best gift of the same accomplishments with men; 
either God could bestow or man receive. 15 and all, to be. only stewards of our houses, 
And 't is the sordidest piece of folly .and coiiks, and slaves. 

ingratitude in the world, to withhold \Not that I am for exalting the female 
from the sex the due luster which the government in the least; but, in short, I 
advantages of education give to the would have men take women for com- 
natural beauty of their minds. 20 panions, and educate them to be fit for 

A woman well bred and well taught, 1^ A woman of sense and breeding will* 
furnished with the additional accomplish- scorn as much to encroach upon the pre- 
ments of knowledge and behavior, is a rogative of man, as a man of sense will 
creature without comparison. Her so- scorn to oppress the weakness of the 
ciety is the emblem of sublimer enjoy- 25 woman. But if the women's souls were 
ments, her person is angelic, and her refined and improved by teaching, that 
conversation heavenly. She is all soft- word would be lost. To say, the weak- 
ness and^weetness, peace, love, wit, and ness of the sex, as to judgment, would 
delight, (she is every way suitable to the be nonsense ; for ignorance and folly 
sublimesr wish ; and the man that has 30 would be no more to be found among 
such a one to his portion, has nothing women than men. 

to do but to rejoice in her, and be thank- I remember a passage, which I heard 

fu*lSi from a very fine woman." She had wit 

^ the other hand, suppose her to be and capacity enough, an extraordinary 
the very same woman, and rob her of the 35 shape and face, and a great fortune, but 
benefit of education, and it follows: — had been cloistered up all her time, and 

If her temper be good, want of educa- for fear of being stolen, had not had t'-e 
lion makes her soft and easy. liberty of being taught the common neces- 

Her wit, for want of teaching, makes sary knowledge of women's affairs. And 
her impertinent and talkative. 40 when she came to converse in the world 

Her knowledge, for want of judgment her natural wit made her so sensible of 
and experience, makes her fanciful and the want of education, that she gave this 
whimsical. short reflection on herself: 'I am 

If her temper be bad, want of breeding ashamed to talk with my very maids,' 
makes her worse; and she grows haughty, 45 says she, ' for I don't know when they do 
insolent, and loud. right or wrong. I had more need go to 

If she be passionate, want of manners school, than be married.' 
makes her a termagant and a scold, which I need not enlarge on the loss the de- 

is much at one with lunatic. feet of education is to the sex, nor argue 

If she be proud, want of discretion 50 the benefit of the contrary practice. 'T is 
(which still is breeding) makes her con- a thing will be more easily granted than 
ceited, fantastic, and ridiculous. remedied. This chapter is but an essay 

And from these she degenerates to be at the thing; and I refer the practice to 
turbulent, clamorous, noisy, nasty, the those happy days (if ever they shall be) 
(jevil ! . . . 55 when men shall be wise enough to mend 

The great distinguishing difference, it. ^^1697) 



JONATHAN SWIFT (i 667-1 745) 



Swift was born in Dublin — a chance whicli all his life he chose to resent as the first of 
many insults of fortune. At Kilkenny Grammar School and at Trinity College, Dublin, where 
he was ' wild, witty, and poor,' he had to be supported by one relative, and for the next 
decade, he was a discontented dependent of another, Sir William Temple. During one of 
his disagreements with the latter, he left in a huff, crossed to Ireland, and went into holy orders. 
Dryden had crushed his poetic inclinations and incurred his lasting resentment by the solid 
remark, ' Cousin Swift, you will never be a poet' He did not discover his genius for 
satire until about his thirtieth year, when he wrote A Tale of a Tuh and The Battle of the 
Books. These were published anonymously in 1704, preceded and followed by a rapid volley 
of pamphlets upon subjects then in dispute. For about ten years, he spent much of his 
time in London, mingled with the reigning wits in their homes and clubs, amused his leisure 
with squibs and verses, and projected the Scriblerus Club whose chief members, besides him- 
self, were Pope, Arbuthnot, Atterbury, Parnell and Gay. In 1710, personal interest united 
with conscience to engage him on the Tory side. He edited the Examiner (1710-11), threw 
himself ferociously into political intrigue, and, for a time, wielded an extraordinary personal 
influence. But, though he could dictate the preferment of bishops, the author of A Tale of 
a Tub was powerless to secure a high appointment for himself. He had to be content with 
the Deanery of St. Patrick's, at Dublin, whither after the disruption of the Tory party in 
1714, he permanently retired, — an embittered and disappointed man. Ten years later, an 
attempt to exploit the Irish people by a scheme of debased coinage called forth the most 
angry, unscrupulous, and masterly of his controversial series, the Letters of M. B. Drapier 
(1724). Here, and in his Modest Proposal for preventing the Children of Poor People from 
being a Burden to their Parents, and similar ironical extravagances, he voiced his savage 
indignation at the unjust and heart-rending poverty of his adopted people. After the death 
-of 'the unfortunate Stella' (Esther Johnson), Swift's powerful faculties began to show signs 
'»f derangement. * I shall die at the top,' he had once said, pointing to a tree which had been 
blasted by lightning, — and the words were prophetic. Already, in the last portions of Gulli- 
ver's Travels (1726), we see the horrible evidences of 'a mind diseased.' In 1741, he became 
' furiously insane,' then lapsed into idiocy, and at last was laid to rest in his own cathedral, 
in the city of his birth, ' where,' in the words of his epitaph, which he himself composed, 
ferocious indignation can no longer tear the heart' — 

Ubi saeva indignatio 

Cor ulterius lacerare nequit. 

In dealing with Swift, it is never safe to forget the deadly purpose and * intent to kill ' which 
inspires his grim horseplay. He bitterly hated the world's shams and inconsistencies. His 
reckless and irreverent energy of thought and the acrid irony of his style made him dangerous 
to all he touched. His humor was like fire ; what it played over, it consumed. 



From A TALE OF A TUB considered of some good legacies to be- 

SECTiON II queath you; and at last, with much care, 

as vi^ell as expense, have provided each 
Once upon a time there vi^as a man of you (here they are) a new coat, 
who had three sons by one wife, and all S Now, you are to understand that these 
at a birth, neither could the midwife tell coats have two virtues contained in them; 
certainly which was the eldest. Their one is, that with good wearing they will 
father died while they were young; and last you fresh and sound as long as you 
upon his death-bed, calling the lads to live; the other is, that they will grow in 
him, spoke thus: — i° the same proportion with your bodies, 

' Sons, because I have purchased no lengthening and widening of themselves, 
estate, nor was born to any, I have long so as to be always fit. Here; let me see 

299 



300 JONATHAN SWIFT 



them on you before I die. So; very open air]; got a list of peers by heart 
well; pray, children, wear them clean, in one company, and with great familiar- 
and brush them often. You will find in ity retailed them in another. Above all, 
my will ^ (here it is) full instructions they constantly attended those committees 
in every particular concerning the wear- 5 of senators who are silent in the house 
ing and management of your coats ; and loud in the coffee-house ; where they 
wherein you must be very exact, to avoid nightly adjourn to chew the cud of 
the penalties I have appointed for every politics, and are encompassed with a ring 
transgression or neglect, upon which your of disciples, who lie in wait to catch up 
future fortunes will entirely depend. I 10 their droppings. The three brothers had 
have also commanded in my will that acquired forty other qualifications of the 
you should live together in one house like stamp, too tedious to recount, and 
like brethren and friends, for then you by consequence were justly reckoned the 
will be sure to thrive, and not otherwise.' most accomplished persons in the town ; 

Here, the story says, this good father 15 but all would not suffice, and the ladies 
died, and the three sons went all together aforesaid continued still inflexible. To 
to seek their fortunes. clear up which difficulty I must, with the 

I shall not trouble you with recounting reader's good leave and patience, have 
what adventures they met for the first recourse to some points of weight, which 
seven years, any farther than by taking 20 the authors of that age have not suffi- 
notice that they carefully observed their ciently illustrated. 

father's will, and kept their coats in very For about this time it happened a sect 

good order : that they traveled througla arose ^ whose tenets obtained and spread 
several countries, encountered a reason- very far, especially in the grand monde, 
able quantity. of giants, and slew certain 25 and among everybody of good fashion, 
dragons. They worshipped a sort of idol,^ who, as 

Being now arrived at the proper age their doctrine delivered, did daily create 
for producing themselves, they came up men by a kind of manufactory operation, 
to town, and fell in love with the ladies, This idol they placed in the highest parts 
but especially three, who about that time 3° of the house, on an altar erected about 
were in chief reputation; the Duchess three foot; he was shown in the posture 
d'Argent, Madame de Grands Titres, of a Persian emperor, sitting on a super- 
and the Countess d'Orgueil. On their ficies, with his legs interwoven under 
first appearance our three adventurers him. This god had a goose for his en- 
met with a very bad reception; and soon 35 sign; whence it is that some learned men 
with great sagacity guessmg out the pretend to deduce his original from 
reason, they quickly began to improve in Jupiter Capitolinus. At his left hand, 
the good qualities of the town; they writ, beneath the altar, hell seemed to open 
and rallied, and rhymed, and sung, and and catch at the animals the idol was 
said, and said nothing; they drank, and 4° creating; to prevent which, certain of 
fought, and whored, and slept, and swore, his priests hourly flung in pieces of the 
and took snuft' ; they went to new plays uninformed mass, or substance, and some- 
on the first night, haunted the chocolate- times whole limbs already enlivened, 
houses, beat the watch, lay on bulks, and which that horrid gulf insatiably swal- 
got claps ; they bilked hackney-coachmen, 45 lowed, terrible to behold. The goose was 
ran in debt with shop-keepers, and lay also held a subaltern divinity or deus 
with their wives ; they killed bailiffs, minorum gentium [god of the lesser 
kicked fiddlers down stairs, eat at peoples], before whose shrine was sac- 
Locket's, loitered at Will's; they talked rificed that creature whose hourly food 
of the drawing-room, and never came 5° is human gore, and who is in so great 
there ; dined with lords they never saw ; renown abroad for being the delight and 
whispered a duchess, and spoke never a favorite of the Egyptian Cercopithecus.* 
word; exposed the scrawls of their 

laundress for billets-doux of quality ; came " This is an occasional satire upon dress and 

ever iust from court, and were never seen 55 f^fJ.°"' '" °','^^'. *° introduce what follows. 

'-'*^ J 1111 L J- r- u -^y t^'^ '"°' 's meant a tailor. 

in It; attended the levee sub aiO [in ttie 4xhe Egyptians worshipped a monkey, which 

animal is very fond of eating lice, styled here 
i.The New Testament, creatures that feed on human gore. 



A TALE OF A TUB 301 



Millions of these animals were cruelly indeed, that these animals, which are 
slaughtered every day to appease the vulgarly called suits of clothes, oj; 
hunger of that consuming deity. The dresses, do, according to certain com- 
chief idol was also worshipped as the in- positions, receive different appellations, 
ventor of the yard and needle; whether 5 If one of them be trimmed up with a 
as the god of seamen, or on account of gold chain, and a red gown, and white 
certain other mystical attributes, has not rod, and a great horse, it is called a 
been sufficiently cleared. lord-mayor: if certain ermines and furs 

The worshippers of this deity had also be placed in a certain position, we style 
a system of their belief, which seemed 10 them a judge; and so an apt conjunction 
to turn upon the following fundamentals, of lawn and black satin we entitle a 
They held the universe to be a large suit bishop. 

of clothes, which invests everything; that Others of these professors, though 

the earth is invested by the air; the air agreeing in the main system, were yet 
is invested by the stars; and the stars 15 more refined upon certain branches of it; 
are invested by the primum mobile. and held that man was an animal corn- 
Look on this globe of earth, you will find pounded of two dresses, the natural and 
it to be a very complete and fashionable celestial suit, which were the body and 
dress. What is that which some call the soul : that the soul was the outward, 
land but a fine coat faced with green ? 20 and the body the inward clothing ; that 
or the sea, but a waistcoat of water- the latter was ex traduce; but the former 
tabby? Proceed to the particular works of daily creation and circumfusion; this 
of the creation, you will find how cu- last they proved by scripture, because in 
rious journeyman Nature has been to them we live, and move, and have our 
trim up the vegetable beaux; observe 25 being; as likewise by philosophy, because 
how sparkish a periwig adorns the head they are all in all, and all in every part. 
of a beech, and what a fine doublet of Besides, said they, separate these two and 
white satin is worn by the birch. To you will find the body to be only a sense- 
conclude from all, what is man himself less unsavory carcase; by all which it is 
but a microcoat,^ or rather a complete 30 manifest that the outward dress must 
suit of clothes with all its trimmings? needs be the soul. 

As to his body there can be no dispute; To this system of religion were tagged 

but examine even the acquirements of several subaltern doctrines, which were 
his mind, you will find them all con- entertained with great vogue: as partic- 
tribute in their order towards furnishing 35 ularly the faculties of the mind were 
out an exact dress : to instance no more ; deduced by the learned among them in 
is not religion a cloak, honesty a pair of this manner; embroidery was sheer wit, 
shoes worn out in the dirt, self-love a gold fringe was agreeable conversation, 
surtout, vanity a shirt, and conscience a gold lace was repartee, a huge long peri- 
pair of breeches? * * * 40 wig was humor, and a coat full of powder 
These postulata being admitted, it will was very good raillery — all which re- 
follow in due course of reasoning that quired abundance of finesse and delica- 
those beings, which the world calls im- tesse to manage with advantage, as well 
properly suits of clothes, are in reality the as a strict observance after times and 
most refined species of animals ; or, to pro- 45 fashions. 

ceed higher, that they are rational crea- I have, with much pains and reading, 

tures or men. For, is it not manifest collected out of ancient authors this short 
that they live, and move, and talk, and summary of a body of philosophy and 
perform all other offices of human life? divinity, which seems to have been com- 
are not beauty, and wit, and mien, and 50 posed by a vein and race of thinking 
breeding, their inseparable proprieties? very different from any other systems 
in short, we see nothing but them, hear either ancient or modern. And it was 
nothing but them. Is it not they who not merely to entertain or satisfy the 
walk the streets, fill up parliament-, cof- reader's curiosity, but rather to give 
fee-, play-, bawdy-houses ? 'T is true, 55 him light into several circumstances of 

the following story; that, knowing the 

» Alluding to the word microcosm, or a little State of dispositions and Opinions in an 

jvorid, as man has been called by philosophers. age SO remote, he may better comorehend 



302 JONATHAN SWIFT 



those great events which were the issue temper should they find? — obedience 
of them. I advise, therefore, the cour- was absolutely necessary, and yet shoul- 
teous reader to peruse with a world of der-knots appeared extremely requisite, 
application, again and again, whatever I After much thought one of the brothers, 
have written upon this matter. And 5 who happened to be more book-learned 
leaving these broken ends, I carefully than the other two, said he had found an 
gather up the chief thread of my story expedient. ' 'T is true,' said he, * there 
and proceed. _ ^ is nothing here in this will, totidem 

These opinions, therefore, were so unl- verbis [in so many words], making men- 
versal, as well as the practices of them, lo tion of shoulder-knots : but I dare con- 
among the refined part of court and jecture we may find them inclusive, or 
town, that our three brother adventurers, totidem syllabis [in so many syllables].' 
as their circumstances then stood, were This distinction was immediately ap- 
strangely at a loss. For, on the one proved by all, and so they fell again to 
side, the three ladies they addressed 15 examine the will ; but their evil star had 
themselves to, whom we have named al- so directed the matter that the first syl- 
ready, were at the very top of the fash- labia was not to be found in the whole 
ion, and abhorred all that were below it writing. Upon which disappointment, 
but the breadth of a hair. On the other he who found the former evasion took 
side, their father's will was very precise; 20 heart, and said, 'Brothers, there are yet 
and it was the main precept in it, with hopes; for though we cannot find them 
the greatest penalties annexed, not to totidem verbis, nor totidem syllabis, I 
add to or diminish from their coats one dare engage we shall make them out 
thread, without a positive command in tertio mode [by a third method] or to- 
the will. Now, the coats their father 25 tidem Uteris [in so many letters] .* 
had left them were, 't is true, of very This discovery was also highly corn- 
good cloth, and besides so neatly sewn, mended, upon which they fell once more 
you would swear they were all of a to the scrutiny, and picked out S, H, O, 
piece; but at the same time very plain, U, L, D, E, R; when the same planet, 
and with little or no ornament : and it 30 enemy to their repose, had wonderfully 
happened that before they were a month contrived that a K was not to be found. 
in town great shoulder-knots^ came up Here was a weighty difficulty! but the 
— straight all the world was shoulder- distinguishing brother, for whom we shall 
knots — no approaching the ladies' hereafter find a name, now his hand was 
ruelles without the quota of shoulder- 35 in, proved by a very good argument that 
knots. That fellow, cries one, has no K was a modern, illegitimate letter, un- 
soul; where is his shoulder-knot? Our known to the learned ages, nor anywhere 
three brethren soon discovered their to be found in ancient manuscripts, 
want by sad experience, meeting in their "T is true,' said he, ' Calendas hath in 
walks with forty mortifications and in- 40 Q. V. C.^ been sometimes writ with a 
dignities. If they went to the playhouse K, but erroneously; for in the best 
the door-keeper showed them into the copies it ever spelt with a C. And, by 
twelvepenny gallery; if they called a consequence, it was a gross mistake in 
boat, says a waterman, * I am first scul- our language to spell ' knot ' with a K ' ; 
ler ' ; if they stepped to the Rose to take 45 but that from henceforward he would take 
a botde, the drawer would cry, ' Friend, care it should be writ with a C. Upon 
we sell no ale' ; if they went to visit a this all farther difficulty vanished — 
lady, a footman met them at the door shoulder-knots were made clearly out to 
with ' Pray send up your message.' In be jure paterno [according to the law of 
this unhappy case they went immediately 50 the father], and our three gentlemen 
to consult their father's will, read it over swaggered with as large and as flaunting 
and over, but not a word of the shoulder- ones as the best. 

knot. What should they do? — what But, as human happiness is of a very 

short duration, so in those days were hu- 

iBy this is understood the first introducing of 55 ^^^^^^ fashions, upon which it entirely de- 

pageantry, and unnecessary ornaments m the '■ 

Chuich, such as were neither for convenience nor 

edification, as a shoulder-knot, in which there is * Quibusdam veteribus codicibus; i. e. some an- 

neither symmetry nor use. cient manuscripts. 



A TALE OF A TUB 303 



pends. Shoulder-knots had their time, here before us there is no precept or 
and we must now imagine them in mention about gold lace, conceditur 
their decline; for a certain lord came [it is conceded] but si idem afUnnetiir de 
just from Paris, with fifty yards of nimciipatorio, negatur [if the same is as- 
gold lace upon his coat, exactly trimmed 5 serted of the nuncupatory, it is denied], 
after the court fashion of that month. For, brothers, if you remember, we heard 
In two days all mankind appeared closed a fellow say when we were boys that he 
up in bars of gold lace : ^ whoever heard my father's man say, that he 
durst peep abroad without his com- heard my father say, that he would ad- 
plement of gold lace was as scandal- 10 vise his sons to get gold lace on their 

ous as a , and as ill received coats as soon as ever they could procure 

among the women : what should our money to buy it.' ' By G ! that is 

three knights do in this momentous af- very true,' cries the other ; * I remember 
fair? they had sufficiently strained a it perfectly well,' said the third. And 
point already in the affair of shoulder- 15 so without more ado they got the larg- 
knots: upon recourse to the will, noth- est gold lace in the parish, and walked 
ing appeared there but altum silentium about as fine as lords, 
[primeval silence]. That of the shoul- A while after there came up all in 

der-knots was a loose, flying, circum- fashion a pretty sort of flame-colored 
stantial point; but this of gold lace 20 satin for linings; and the mercer brought 
seemed too considerable an alteration a pattern of it immediately to our three 
without better warrant ; it did aliquo gentlemen ; * An please your worships,' 

modo essentiae adhaerere [in some man- said he, ' my lord C ^ and Sir J. W. 

ner belong to the essence of the matter], had linings out of this very piece last 
and therefore required a positive pre- 25 night : it takes wonderfully, and I shall 
cept. But about this time it fell out ' not have a remnant left enough to make 
that the learned brother aforesaid had my wife a pincushion by to-morrow 
read Aristotelis dialectica, and especially morning at ten o'clock.' Upon this they 
that wonderful piece de interprctatione, fell again to rummage the will, because 
which has the faculty of teaching its 3° the present case also required a positive 
readers to find out a meaning in every- precept — the lining being held by 
thing but itself; like commentators on orthodox writers to be of the essence of 
the Revelations, who proceed prophets the coat. After long search they could 
without understanding a syllable of the fix upon nothing to the matter in hand, 
text. ' Brothers,' said he, ' you are to 35 except a short advice of their father in 
be informed that of wills duo sunt gen- the will to take care of fire* and put out 
era [there are two kinds], nuncupatory ^ their candles before they went to sleep. 
and scriptory: that in the scriptory will This, though a good deal for the pur- 
pose, and helping very far towards self- 

1 1 cannot tell whether the author means any ^q conviction, yet not Seeming wholly of 
new innovation by this word, or whether it be only -f„„„£, t-^ ^o^-^kl.'oV, „ „ j /v. • _ 

^ - ^ , xi, ^;. J r r • J lorce to estaDlisn a command ( hems' 

to introduce the new methods of forcing and per- , , . , " , iiic<.ij.vA v^ i^'^inj, 

verting Scripture. resolved to avoid farther scruple as 

2 By this is meant tradition, allowed by the well aS future OCCasion for Scandal), 

Tr^'mher*" ''r^elter'^"^^ authority with the Scripture, gays he that was the Scholar, * I remem- 
"'xhTs is a^ Pulgatory, whereof he speaks more par- 45 ber to have read in wills of a codicil 

ticularly hereafter; but here, only to shew how annexed, which is indeed a part of the 

Scripture was perverted to prove it, which was will, and what it COntaiuS hath equal 

done by g.vmg equal authority with the canon to authority with the rCSt Now, I have 

Apocrypha, called here a codicil annexed. It is , -j • r i • ^w, ^ lavv, 

likely the author, in every one of these changes been COUSldermg ot this Same Will here 

in the brothers' dresses, refers to some particular 50 befOre US, and I Cannot reckon it tO be 

error in the Church of Rome, though it is not complete for want of SUch a COdicil : I 

easy, I think, to apply them all: but by this of „,:ii fU^-^jr^..^ t^„t.^^ • -u 

flame-colored satin, is manifestly intended Purga- ^'^^ therefore fasten One in itS proper 

tory; by gold lace may perhaps be understood, the place very dexterOUSly — I have ^had it 

lofty ornaments and plate in the churches; the 

shoulder-knots and silver fringe are not so obvious, ,, ' This shews the time the author writ, it being 

at least to me; but the Indian figures of men, about fourteen years since those two persons were 

women, and children, plainly relate to the pictures reckoned the fine gentlemen of the town. 

in the Romish churches, of God like an old -man, * That is, to take care of hell; and, in order to 

of the Virgin Mary, and our Savior as a child. do that, to subdue and extinguish their lusts. 



304 JONATHAN SWIFT 



by me some time — it was written by a fashion, long antiquated, of embroidery 
dog-keeper of my grandfather's,^ and with Indian figures of men, women, and 
talks a great deal, as good luck would children. Here they remembered but 
have it, of this very flame-colored satin.' too well how their father had always ab- 
The project was immediately approved 5 horred this fashion ; that he made sev- 
by the other two; an old parchment eral paragraphs on purpose, importing 
scroll was tagged on according to art his utter detestation of it, and bestowing 
in the form of a codicil annexed, and the his everlasting curse to his sons when- 
satin bought and worn. ever they should wear it. For all this, 

Next winter a player, hired for the lo in a few days they appeared higher in 
purpose by the corporation of fringe- the fashion than anybody else in the 
makers, acted his part in a new comedy, town. But they solved the matter by 
all covered with silver-fringe,^ and, ac- saying that these figures were not at all 
cording to the laudable custom, gave rise the same with those that were formerly 
to that fashion. Upon which the 15 worn and were meant in the will. Be- 
brothers, consulting their father's will, sides, they did not wear them in the 
to their great astonishment found these sense as forbidden by their father; but 
words : ' item, I charge and command my as they were a commendable custom, and 
said three sons to wear no sort of silver of great use to the public.^^ That these 
fringe upon or about their said coats,' 20 rigorous clauses in the will did there- 
etc, with a penalty, in case of disobedi- fore require some allowance and a favor- 
ence, too long here to insert. However, able interpretation, and ought to be un- 
after some pause, the brother so often derstood cum grano sahs [with a grain 
mentioned for his erudition, who was of salt]. 

well skilled in criticisms, had found in 25 But fashions perpetually altering in 
a certain author, which he said should that age, the scholastic brother grew 
be nameless, that the same word which weary of searching farther evasions, and 
in • the will is called fringe does also solving everlasting contradictions. Re- 
signify a broomstick: and doubtless solved, therefore, at all hazards, to com- 
ought to have the same interpretation in 30 ply with the modes of the world, they 
this paragraph. This another of the- concerted matters together, and agreed 
brothers disliked, because of that ep- unanimously to lock up their father's 
ithet silver, which could not he humbly will in a strong box, brought out of 
conceived in propriety of speech be Greece or Italy (I have forgot which), 
reasonably applied to a broomstick: but 3S and trouble themselves no farther to ex- 
it was replied upon him that this epithet amine it, but only refer to its authority 
was understood in a mythological and whenever they thought fit. In conse- 
allegorical sense. However, he objected quence whereof, a while after it grew a 
again why their father should forbid general mode to wear an infinite number 
them to wear a broomstick on their 40 of points, most of them tagged with sil- 
coats — a caution that seemed unnatural ver: upon which the scholar pronounced, 
and impertinent; upon which he was tak- ex cathedra [from the bench], that 
en up short, as one who spoke irreverently points were absolutely jure paterno, as 
of a mystery, which doubtless was very they might very well remember. 'T is 
useful and significant, but ought not to 45 true, indeed, the fashion prescribed 
be over-curiously pried into or nicely somewhat more than were directly named 
reasoned upon. And, in short, their in the will; however, that they, as heirs- 
father's authority being now consider- general of their father, had power to 
ably sunk, this expedient was allowed make and add certain clauses for public 
to serve as a lawful dispensation for 5o emolument, though not deducible, totidem 
wearing their full proportion of silver verbis, from the letter of the will, or 
fringe. else multa absurda sequerenttir [many 

A v^hile after was revived an old absurdities would follow]. This was 

understood for canonical, and therefore, 

1 1 believe this refers to that part of the 55 On the following Sunday, they came to 

Apocrypha where mention is made of Tobit and church all Covered with points, 
his dog. 

*This is certainly the farther introducing the ^ Here they had no occasion to examine the will: 

pomps of habit and ornament. they remembered. — First haition. 



A TALE OF A TUB 305 



The learned brother, so often men- I hope, when this treatise of mine 

tioned, was reckoned the best scholar in shall be translated into foreign lang;uages 
all that or the next street to it, insomuch (as I may without vanity affirm that the 
as, having run something behindhand in labor of collecting, the faithfulness in 
the world, he obtained the favor of a 5 recounting, and the great usefulness of 
certain lord ^ to receive him into his the matter to the public, will amply de- 
house, and to teach his children. A serve that justice), that the worthy 
while after the lord died, and he, by long members of the several academies 
practice of his father's will, found the abroad, especially those of France and 
way of contriving a deed of conveyance 10 Italy, will favorably accept these humble 
of that house to himself and his heirs ; offers for the advancement of universal 
upon which he took possession, turned knowledge. I do also advertise the most 
the young squires out, and received his reverend fathers, the eastern mission- 
brothers in their stead. aries, that I have, purely for their sakes, 

15 made use of such words and phrases as 

will best admit an easy turn into any of 

^PTTTfiM TV *^^ oriental languages, especially the 

i>Ki.iwN IV Chinese. And so I proceed with great 

I have now, with much pains and study, content of mind, upon reflecting how 
conducted the reader to a period where 20 much emolument this whole globe of the 
he must expect to hear of great revolu- earth is likely to reap by my labors, 
tions. For no sooner had our learned The first undertaking of lord Peter 

brother, so often mentioned, got a warm was, to purchase a large continent,^ 
house of his own over his head than he lately said to have been discovered in 
began to look big and take mightily 25 terra anstraiis incognita [an unknown 
upon him; insomuch that, unless the country to the south]. This tract of land 
gentle reader, out of his great candor, he bought at a very great pennyworth 
will please a little to exalt his idea, I from the discoverers themselves (though 
-am afraid he will henceforth hardly some pretend to doubt whether they had 
know the hero of the play when he hap- 3o ever been there), and then retailed it 
pens to meet him; his part, his dress, and into several cantons to certain dealers, 
his mien being so much altered. who carried over colonies, but were all 

He told his brothers he would have shipwrecked in the voyage. Upon which 
them to know that he was their elder, lord Peter sold the said continent to 
and consequently his father's sole heir ; 3S other customers again, and again, and 
nay, a while after, he would not allow again, and again, with the same success, 
them to call him brother, but Mr. The second project I shall mention 

PETER, and then he must be styled was his sovereign remedy for the worms, 
Father PETER; and sometimes. My Lord especially those in the spleen. The pa- 
PETER. To support this grandeur, 40 tient was to eat nothing after supper 
which he soon began to consider could for three nights : ^ as soon as he went 
not be maintained without a better fonde to bed he was carefully to lie on one side, 
than what he was born to, after much and when he grew weary to turn upon 
thought, he cast about at last to turn the other; he must also duly confine his 
projector and virtuoso, wherein he so 45 two eyes to the same object. * * * 
well succeeded, that many famous dis- These prescriptions diligently observed, 
coveries, projects and machines, which the worms would void insensibly by 
bear great vogue and practice at pres- perspiration, ascending through the 
ent in the world, are owing entirely to brain. 

lord PETER'S invention. I will de- '5° A third invention was the erecting of 
duce the best account I have been able a whispering-office for the public good 
to collect of the chief among them, with- and ease of all such as are hypochon- 
out considering much the order they driacal or troubled with the colic ; as 
came out in ; because I think authors 
are not well agreed as to that point. 55 l That is Purgatory 

'^ _ ^ " Here the author ridicules the penances of the 

^This was Constantine the Great, from whom Church of Rome, wh'ch may be made as easy to the 
the popes pretend a donation of St. Peter's patri- sinner as he pleases, provided he will pay for them 



n»ony, which they have never been able to prodxice. accordingly. 



3o6 JONATHAN SWIFT 



midwives/ small politicians, friends virtues, was a quite different thing, 
fallen out, repeating poets, lovers happy For Peter would put in a certain quan- 
or in despair, bawds, privy-counsellors, tity of his powder pimperlimpimp, after 
pages, parasites, and buffoons; in short, which it never failed of success. The 
of all such as are in danger of bursting s operation was performed by spargefac- 
with too much wind. An ass's head was tion, in a proper time of the moon. The 
placed so conveniently that the party ef- patient who was to be pickled, if it were 
fected might easily with his mouth acca&|^ a house, would infallibly be preserved 
either of the animal's ears; to which he" from all spiders, rats, and weasels; if 
was to apply close for a certain space, lo the party affected were a dog, he should 
and by a fugitive faculty, peculiar to the be exempt from mange, and madness, 
ears of that animal, receive immediate and hunger. It also infallibly took away 
benefit, ^either by eructation, or exfrk^ all scabs, and lice, and scalled heads from 
tion, oA evomitation. -..^children, never hindering the patient 

Another very beneficial project of lord 15 from any duty, either at bed or board. 
Peter's ^as an office of insurance for But of all Peter's rareties he most 

tobacco-pipes,2 martyrs of the modern valued a certain set of bulls, whose race 

zeal, volufnesof poetry, shadows, , was by great fortune preserved in a 

and rivers; that these, nor any of these, lineal descent from those that guarded 
shall receive damage by fire. Whence 20 the golden fleece. Though some, who 
our friendly societies may plainly find pretended to observe them curiously, 
themselves to be only transcribers from doubted the breed had not been kept en- 
this original; though the one and the tirely chaste, because they had degen- 
other have been of great benefit to the erated from their ancestors in some 
undertakers, as well as of equal to 25 qualities, and had acquired others very 
the public extraordinary, by a foreign mixture. 

Lord PETER was also held the orig- The bulls of Colchis are recorded to have 
inal author of puppets and raree-shows ; ^ • brazen feet ; but whether it happened by 
the great usefulness whereof being so iH pasture and running, by an allay from 
generally known, I shall not enlarge far- 3o intervention of other parents, from 
ther upon this particular. stolen intrigues; whether a weakness in 

But another discovery for which he their progenitors had impaired the semi- 
was much renowned, was his famous uni- nal virtue, or by a decline necessary 
versal pickle. For, having remarked through a long course of time, the orig- 
how your common pickle * in use among 35 inals of nature being depraved in these 
housewives was of no farther benefit latter sinful ages of the world; what- 
than to preserve dead flesh and certain ever was the cause, it is certain that lord 
kinds of vegetables, Peter, with great Peter's bulls were extremely vitiated by 
cost as well as art, had contrived a pickle the rust of time m the metal of their 
proper for houses, gardens, towns, men, 40 feet which was now sunk into common 
women, children, and cattle; wherein he lead. However, the terrible roaring pe- 
could preserve them as sound as insects cuhar to their lineage was preserved; 
in amber. Now, this pickle, to the taste, as likewise that faculty of breathing out 
the smell, and the sight, appeared ex- fire from their nostrils, which, notwith- 
actly the same with what is in common 4S standing, many of their detractors took 
service for beef, and butter, and herrings, to be a feat of art, to be nothing so 
and has been often that way applied with terrible as it appeared, proceeding only 
great success; but, for its many sovereign ^^ o^sq^uiL^" jUTr^c^rl^^' Ho^et 

lAs likewise of all eavesdroppers, midvvives, etc. So they had tWO peculiar marks, whlch ex- 

— First Edition. trcmcly distinguished them from the bulls 

2 This I take to be the office of indulgences, the Qf Jason, and which I have not met tO- 
gross abuses whereof first gave occasion for the ^g^.|-,gj. \^ the description of any Other 

""'Trnre are the monkeries and ridiculous pro- monster beside that in Horace : 

cessions, etc., among the papists. 55 , . . , 

«This is easily understood to be holy water, "These are the fulmmations ot the pope, 

composed of the same ingredients with many other threatening hell and damnation to. those princes 
pickles. **>o off^"'^ ^•™- 



A TALE OF A TUB 307 



Varias inducere plumas; 'To all mayors, sheriffs, jailors, con- 

and [putting on gay plumage.] stables, bailiffs, hangmen, etc. Whereas 

Atrum desinat in piscem. we are informed that A. B. remains in 

[ending in a foul fish below.] the hands of you, or some of you, under 

5 the sentence of death. We will and 
For these had fishes' tails, yet upon oc- command you, upon sight hereof, to let 
casion could outfly any bird in the air. the said prisoner depart to his own hab- 
Peter put these bulls upon several em- itation, whether he stands condemned 
ploys. Sometimes he would set them for murder, sodomy, rape, sacrilege, in- 
a-roaring to fright naughty boys,^ and 10 cest, treason, blasphemy, etc., for which 
make them quiet. Sometimes he would this shall be your sufficient warrant; and 
send them out upon errands of great im- if you fail hereof, G — d — mn you and 
portance ; where, it is wonderful to re- yours to all eternity. • And so we bid you 
count (and perhaps the cautious reader heartily farewell, 
may think much to believe it), an appe- is Your most humble 

tit us sensihilis [an appetite of the senses] Man's man, 

deriving itself through the whole family Emperor PETER.' 

from their noble ancestors, guardians of 

the golden fleece, they continued so ex- The wretches, trusting to this, lost 

tremely fond of gold, that if Peter sent 20 their lives and mor^ey too. 
them abroad, though it were only upon I desire of those whom the learned 

a compliment, they would roar, and among posterity will appoint for com- 
spit, and belch, and snivel out fire, and mentators upon this elaborate treatise, 
keep a perpetual coil, till you flung them that they will proceed with great caution 
a bit of gold; but then, piilveris e.vigui 25 upon certain dark points, wherein all who 
jactu [by throwing on a little dust], are not vere adepti [genuine adepts] 
they would grow calm and quiet as lambs, may be in danger to form rash and hasty 
In short, whether by secret connivance conclusions, especially in some myste- 
or encouragement from their master, or rious paragraphs, where certain arcana 
out of their own liquorish affection to 30 are joined for brevity sake, which in the 
gold, or both, it is certain they were no operation must be divided. -And I am 
better than a sort of sturdy, swaggering, certain that future sons of art will re- 
beggars ; and where they could not pre- turn large thanks to my memory for so 
vail to get an alms, would make women grateful, so useful an innuendo. 
miscarry, and children fall into fits, who 35 It will be no difficult part to persuade 
to this very day usually call sprights the reader that so many worthy discov- 
and hobgoblins by the name of bull-beg- eries met with great success in the 
gars. They grew at last so very trouble- world; though I may justly assure him 
some to the neighborhood, that some that I have related much the smallest 
gentlemen of the north-west got a par- 40 number ; my design having been only to 
eel of right English bull-dogs, and baited single out such as will be of most benefit 
them so terribly that they felt it ever for public imitation, or which best serve 
after. to give some idea of the reach and wit 

I must needs mention one more of of the inventor. And therefore it need 
lord Peter's projects, which was very 45 not be wondered at if by this time lord 
extraordinary, and discovered him to be Peter was become exceeding rich : but, 
master of a high reach and profound alas ! he had kept his brain so long and 
invention. Whenever it happened that so violently upon the fack, that at last it 
any rogue of Newgate was condemned shook itself, and began to turn round 
to be hanged, Peter would offer him a 50 for a little ease. In short, what with 
pardon, for a certain sum of money; pride, projects, and knavery, poor Peter 
which, when the poor caitiff had made was grown distracted, and conceived the 
aH shifts to scrape up and send, his lord- strangest imaginations in the world. In 
ship would return a piece of paper in the height of his fits, as it is usual with 
this form : — ^ 55 those who run mad out of pride, he would 

, Th . • I • u • J !-• J- , ^^^1 himself God Almighty,^ and some- 

^ That IS, kings who incurred his displeasure. ° ■' 

' This is a copy of a general pardon, signed 
servus servorum (slave of slaves). » The Pope is not only allowed to be the vicar 



3o8 JONATHAN SWIFT 



times monarch of the universe. I have fermented liquor, diffused through the 
seen him (says my author) take three mass of the bread.' Upon the strength of 
old high-crowned hats/ and clap them all these conclusions, next day at dinner was 
on his head three story high, with a huge the brown loaf served up in all the 
bunch of keys at his girdle,^ and an an- 5 formality of a city feast. ' Come, broth- 
gling-rod in his hand. In which guise, ers,' said Peter, 'fall to, and spare not; 
whoever went to take him by the hand here is excellent good mutton; or hold, 
in the way of salutation, Peter with now my hand is in, I will help you.' At 
much grace, like a well-educated spaniel, which word, in much ceremony, with 
would present them with his foot, and if 10 fork and knife, he carves out two good 
they refused his civility, then he would slices of a loaf, and presents each on a 
raise it as high as their chaps, and give plate to his brothers. The elder of the 
them a damned kick on the mouth, which two, not suddenly entering into lord 
hath ever since been called a salute. Peter's conceit, began with very civil 
Whoever walked by without paying him 15 language to examine the mystery. ' My 
their compliments, having a wonderful lord,' said he, * I doubt, with great sub- 
strong breath, he would blow their hats mission, there may be some mistake.' — 
ofif into the dirt. Meantime his affairs ' What,' says Peter, ' you are pleasant ; 
at home went upside down, and his two come then, let us hear this jest your head 
brothers had a wretched time ; where his 20 is so big with.' — ' None in the world, my 
first boutade ^ was to kick both their lord ; but, unless I am very much de- 
wives one morning out of doors, and his ceived, your lordship was pleased a while 
own too; and in their stead gave orders ago to let fall a word about mutton, and 
to pick up the first three strollers that I would be glad to see it with all my 
could be met with in the streets. A while 25 heart.' — ' How,' said Peter, appearing in 
after he nailed up the cellar-door, and great surprise, ' I do not comprehend this 
would not allow his brothers a drop of at all' Upon which the younger inter- 
drink to their victuals.^ Dining one day posing to set the business aright, ' My 
at an alderman's in the city, Peter ob- lord,' said he, ' my brother, I suppose, is 
served him expatiating, after the manner 3° hungry, and longs for the mutton your 
of his brethren, in the praises of his lordship has promised us to dinner.' — 
sirloin of beef. ' Beef,' said the sage ' Pray,' said Peter, ' take me along with 
magistrate, 'is the king of meat; beef you; either you are both mad, or disposed 
comprehends in it the quintessence of to be merrier than I approve of; if you 
partridge, and quail, and venison, and 35 there do not like your piece I will carve 
pheasant, and plum-pudding, and custard.' you another; though I should take that to 
When Peter came home he would needs be the choice bit of the whole shoulder.' 
take the fancy of cooking up this doc- — ' What then, my lord,' replied the first, 
trine into use, and apply the precept, in ' it seems this is a shoulder of mutton 
default of a sirloin, to his brown loaf. 40 all this while ? '— ' Pray, sir,' says Peter, 
' Bread,' says he, * dear brothers, is the ' eat your victuals, and leave off your im- 
staff of life; in which bread is contained, pertinence, if you please, for I am not dis- 
inclusive, the quintessence of beef, mut- posed to relish it at present': but the 
ton, veal, venison, partridge, plum- other could not forbear, being over-pro- 
pudding, and custard ; and, to render all 45 voked at the affected seriousness of 
complete, there is intermingled a due Peter's countenance : ' By G— , my lord,' 
quantity of water, whose crudities are said he, ' I can only say, that to my eyes, 
also corrected by yeast or barm, through and fingers, and teeth, and nose, it seems 
which means it becomes a wholesome to be nothing but a crust of bread.' Upon 

50 which the second put in his word : ' I 
of Christ, but by several divines is called God upon never saw a piece of mutton in my life 

earth, and other blasphemous titles. SO nearly resembling a slice from a 

^ The triple crown. j.i ij!j(ti i.i > 

= The keys of the Church. twelvepenny loaf. — Look ye, gentlemen, 

3 This word properly signifies a sudden jerk, or cries Peter, in a rage ; ' to convince you 

lash of a horse, when you do not expect it. 55 what a couple of blind, positivc, ignorant, 

* The Pope's refusing the cup to the laity, per- jif^i puppies yOU are, I will USe but this 

suading them that the blood is contained in the 1 ■ i_ /-^ •. • j 
bread, and that the bread is the real and entire P^^m argument: by G— , it IS true, gOOd, 

pody of Christ. natural mutton as any in Leadenhali- 



A TALE OF A TUB 309 



market; and G — confound you both to hell if they pretended to make the 
eternally if you offer to believe otherwise.' least scruple of believing him. One time 
Such a thundering proof as this left no he swore he had a cow at home which 
farther room for objection; the two un- gave as much milk at a meal as would 
believers began to gather and pocket up 5 fill three thousand churches ; and, what 
their mistake as hastily as they could. was yet more extraordinary, would never 
' Why truly,' said the first, ' upon more turn sour. Another time he was telling 

mature consideration ' — ' Ay,' says of an old sign-post,^ that belonged to his 

the other, interrupting him, ' now I have father, with -nails and timber enough in 
thought better on the thing, your lordship 10 it to build sixteen large men of war. 
seems to have a great deal of reason.' — Talking one day of Chinese wagons, 
' Very well," said Peter ; ' here, boy, fill me which were made so light as to sail over 
a beer-glass of claret ; here 's to you both mountains, ' Z — ds,' said Peter, ' where 's 
with all my heart.' The two brethren, the wonder of that? By G — , I saw a 
much delighted to see him so readily 15 large house of lime and stone travel over 
appeased, returned their most humble sea and land (granting that it stopped 
thanks, and said they would be glad to sometimes to bait) above two thousand 
pledge his lordship. ' That you shall,' German leagues.' And that which was 
said Peter ; ' I am not a person to refuse the good of it, he would swear desperately 
you anything that is reasonable: wine, 20 all the while that he never told a lie in his 
moderately taken, is a cordial ; here is a life ; and at every word, ' By G — , gentle- 
glass a-piece for you ; 't is true natural men, I tell you nothing but the truth ; and 
juice from the grape, none of your damned the d — 1 broil them eternally that will not 
vintner's brewings.' Having spoke thus, believe me.' 

he presented to each of them another 25 In short, Peter grew so scandalous, 
large dry crust, bidding them drink it that all the neighborhood began in plain 
off, and not be bashful, for it would do words to say he was no better than a 
them no hurt. The two brothers, after knave. And his two brothers, long weary 
having performed the usual office in such of his ill-usage, resolved at last to leave 
delicate conjectures, of staring a suffi- 3° him ; but first they humbly desired a copy 
cient period at lord Peter and each other, of their father's will, which had now lain 
and finding how matters were likely to go, by neglected time out of mind. Instead 
resolved not to enter on a new dispute, of granting this request he called them 
but let him carry the point as he pleased ; damned . . . rogues, traitors, and the 
for he was now got into one of his mad ^^ rest of the vile names he could muster up. 
fits, and to argue or expostulate farther However, while he was. abroad one day 
would only serve to render him a hundred upon his projects, the two youngsters 
times more untractable. watched their opportunity, made a shift 

I have chosen to relate this worthy to come at the will,^ and took a copia 
matter in all its circumstances, because ''° vera [true copy] by which they presently 
it gave a principal occasion to that great saw how grossly they had been abused; 
and famous rupture ^ which happened their father having left them equal heirs, 
about the same time among these breth- and strictly commanded that whatever 
ren, and was never afterwards made up. they got should lie in common among 
But of that I shall treat at large in an- 45 them all. Pursuant to which their next 
other section. enterprise was to break open the cellar- 

However, it is certain that lord Peter, door, and get a little good drink,* to spirit 
even in his lucid intervals, was very and comfort their hearts. In copying the 
lewdly given in his common conversa- will they had met another precept against 
tion, extremely wilful and positive, and 5° whoring, divorce, and_ separate mainte- 
would at any time rather argue to the nance ; upon which their next work ^ was 
death than allow himself once to be in to discard their concubines, and send for 
an error. Besides, he had an abominable 2 By the sign-post is meant the cross of out 
faculty of telling huge palpable lies upon Blessed Savior. 

all occasions; and not only swearing to 55 =• Translated the Scriptures into the vulgar 

the truth, but cursing the whole company ^""ITdmmht.rea the cup to the laity at the com. 

munion. 
* By this rupture is meant the Reformation. '• Allowed the marriages of priests. 



3IO ' JONATHAN SWIFT 



their wives. While all this was in agita- ing where common charity directs me, 
tion there enters a solicitor from New- to the assistance of his two brothers at 
gate, desiring lord Peter would please their lowest ebb. However, I shall by no 
procure a pardon for a thief that was to means forget my character of an his- 
be hano-ed to-morrow. But the two s torian to follow the truth step by step, 
brothers^'told him he was a coxcomb to whatever happens, or wherever it may 
seek pardons from a fellow who deserved lead me. 

to be hanged much better than his client; The two exiles, so nearly united in 

and discovered all the method of that im- fortune and interest, took a lodging to- 
posture in the same form I delivered it a logether; where, at their first leisure, they 
while ago, advising the solicitor to put his began to reflect on the numberless mis- 
friend upon obtaining a pardon from the fortunes and vexations of their life past, 
king.^ In the midst of all this clutter and and could not tell on the sudden to what 
revolution, in comes Peter with a file of failure in their conduct they ought to im- 
drao-oons 'at his heels,^ and gathering 15 pute them; when, after some recollec- 
from all hands what was in the wind, he tion, they called to mind the copy of 
and his gang, after several millions of their father's will, which they had so 
scurrilities and curses, not very important happily recovered. This was immedi- 
here to repeat, by main force very fairly ately produced, and a firm resolution 
kicked them both out of doors,^ and would 20 taken between them to alter whatever 
never let them come under his roof from was already amiss, and reduce all their 
that day to this. future measures to the strictest obedience 

* * * prescribed therein. The main body of 

the will (as the reader cannot easily have 
SECTION VI 25 forgot) consisted in certain admirable 

We left lord Peter in open rupture with rules about the wearing of their coats; in 
his two brethren ; both for ever discarded the perusal whereof, the two brothers 
from his house, and resigned to the wide at every period duly comparing the doc- 
world with little or nothing to trust to. trine with the practice, there was never 
Which are circumstances that render 3o seen a wider difference between two 
them proper subjects for the charity of things; horrible downright transgressions 
a writer's pen to work on; scenes of of every point. Upon which they both 
misery ever affording the fairest harvest resolved, without further delay, to fall 
for great adventures. And in this the immediately upon reducing the whole ex- 
world may perceive the difference be- 35 actly after their father's model, 
tween the integrity of a generous author But here it is good to stop the hasty 

and that of a common friend. The latter reader, ever impatient to see the end of 
is observed to adhere close in prosperity, an adventure before we writers can duly 
but on the decline of fortune to drop sud- prepare him for it. I am to record that 
denly off. Whereas the generous author, 40 these two brothers began to be distin- 
just on the contrary, finds his hero on the guished at this time by certain names, 
dun^^hill from thence by gradual steps One of them desired to be called MAR- 
raises him to a throne, and then im- TIN,* and the other took the appellation 
mediately withdraws, expecting not so of JACK.^ These two had lived in much 
much as thanks for his pains ; in imita- 45 friendship and agreement under the 
tion of which example, I have placed tyranny of their brother Peter, as it is 
lord Peter in a noble house, given him a the talent of fellow-sufferers to do; men 
title to wear and money to spend. There in misfortune being like men in the 
I shall leave him for some time; return- dark, to whom all colors are the same: 

50 but when they came forward' into the 

1 Directed penitents not to trust to pardons and world, and began tO display themselves 
absolutions procured for money, but sent them to j^ ^ ^ ^^^^ ,j j^ ^j^^j^. 
implore the mercy of God, from whence alone re- . " i i-rr 

mission is to be obtained. plcxious appeared extremely different; 

2 By Peter's dragoons is meant the civil power, which the present pOSture of their af- 
which those princes ' who were bigoted to the 55 fg^jj-g „^^^ ^l-,^,^ SUddeU Opportunity tO 
Romish superstition, employed against the reform- JVpp, ^ 

ers. 

' The Pope shuts all who dissent from him out 
of the Church. * Martin Luther. " John Calvin. 



A TALE OF A TUB 311 



But here the severe reader may justly preserve them from falhng. Resolving, 
tax me as a writer of short meinory, a therefore, to rid his coat of a great 
deficiency to which a true modern can- quantity of gold-lace, he picked up the 
not but of necessity be a little subject. stitches with much caution, and dili- 
Because memory, being an employment 5 gently gleaned out all the loose threads 
of the mind upon things past, is a as he went, which proved to be a work 
faculty for which the learned in our illus- of time. Then he fell about the em- 
trious age have no manner of occasion, broidered Indian figures of men, women, 
who deal entirely with invention, and and children; against which, as you have 
strike all things out of themselves, or at 10 heard in its due place, their father's 
least by collision from each other: upon testament was extremely exact and 
which account we think it highly reason- severe; these, with much dexterity and 
able to produce. our great forgetfulness as application, were, after a while, quite 
an argument unanswerable for our great eradicated or utterly defaced. For the 
wit. I ought in method to have informed 15 rest, where he observed the embroidery 
the reader, about fifty pages ago, of a fancy to be worked so close as not to be got 
lord Peter took, and infused into his away without damaging the cloth, or 
brothers, to wear on their coats whatever where it served to hide or strengthen any 
trimmings came up in fashion; never flaw in the body of the coat, contracted 
pulling off any as they went out of the 20 by the perpetual tampering of workmen 
mode, but keeping on all together, which upon it, he concluded the wisest course 
amounted in time to a medley the most was to let it remain, resolving in no case 
antic you can possibly conceive; and this whatsoever that the substance of the stuff 
to a degree, that upon the time of their should suffer injury ; which he thought the 
falling out there was hardly a thread of 25 best method for serving the true intent 
the original coat to be seen; but an in- and meaning of his father's will. And 
finite quantity of lace, and ribbons, and this is the nearest account I have been 
fringe, and embroidery, and points; I able to collect of Martin's proceedings 
mean only those tagged with silver,^ for upon this great revolution, 
the rest fell off. Now this material cir- 3° But his brother Jack, whose adventures 
cumstance, having been forgot in due will be so extraordinary as to furnish a 
place, as good fortune hath ordered, great part in the remainder of this dis- 
comes in very properly here when the course, entered upon the matter with 
two brothers are just going to reform other thoughts and a quite different spirit, 
their vestures into the primitive state 35 For the memory of lord Peter's injuries 
prescribed by their father's will. produced a degree of hatred and spite 

They both unanimously entered upon which had a much greater share of in- 
this great work, looking sometimes on citing him than any regards after his 
their coats; and sometimes on the will. father's commands; since these appeared, 
Martin laid the first hand; at one twitch 4° at best, only secondary and subservient 
brought off a large handful of points; to the other. However, for this medley 
and, with a second pull, stripped away ten of humor he made a shift to find a very 
dozen yards of fringe. But when he had plausible name, honoring it with the title 
gone thus far he demurred a while: he of zeal; which is perhaps the most sig- 
knew very well there yet remained a '^^ nificant word that has been ever yet 
great deal more to be done ; however, the produced in any language : as I think I 
first heat being over, hi^ violence began have fully proved in my excellent 
to cool, and he resolved to proceed more analytical discourse upon that subject; 
moderately in the rest of the work, hav- wherein I have deduced a histori-theo- 
ing already narrowly escaped a swinging 5° physi-logical account of zeal, showing 
rent, in pulling off the points, which, how it first proceeded from a notion into 
being tagged with silver (as we have a word, and thence, in a hot summer, 
observed before), the judicious workman ripened into a tangible substance. This 
had, with much sagacity, double sewn, to work, containing three large volumes in 

IP . ^ ^ J vu M .,. -. • 55 folio, I design very shortly to publish 

1 Points tagged with silver are those doctrines k,. 4-U^ ^^J^!?„ r t, • .• 

that promote the greatness and wealth of the y J".^ modern way of subscription, not 

Church, which have been therefore woven deepest doubting but the nobility and gentry of 
into the body of popery. the land Will give me all possible en- 



312 JONATHAN SWIFT 



couragement; having had already such a their actions by any reflection upon 
taste of what I am able perform. Peter, but by observing the rules pre- 

I record, therefore, that brother Jack, scribed in their father's v\^ill. That he 
brimful of this miraculous compound, re- should remember Peter v^^as still their 
fleeting v^ith indignation upon Peter's 5 brother, whatever faults or injuries he 
tyranny, and farther provoked by the had committed; and therefore they should 
despondency of Martin, prefaced his res- by all means avoid such a thought as 
olutions to this purpose. ' What,' said that of taking measures for good and 
he, ' a rogue that locked up his drink, evil from no other rule than of opposi- 
turned away our wives, cheated us of our lo tion to him. That it was true, the testa- 
fortunes; palmed his damned crusts upon ment of their good father was very exact 
us for mutton; and at last kicked us out in what related to the wearing of their 
of doors; must we be in his fashions, coats: yet it was no less penal and strict 
with a pox? A rascal, besides, that all in prescribing agreement, and friendship, 
the street cries out against.' Having 15 and affection between them. And there- 
thus kindled and inflamed himself as fore, if straining a point were at all dis- 
high as possible, and by consequence in a pensable, it would certainly be so rather 
delicate temper for beginning a reforma- to the advance of unity than increase of 
tion, he set about the work immediately ; contradiction. 

and in three minutes made more despatch 20 MARTIN had still proceeded as gravely 
than Martin had done in as many hours, as he began, and doubtless would have 
For, courteous reader, you are given to delivered an admirable lecture of moral- 
understand that zeal is never so highly ity, which might have exceedingly con- 
obliged as when you set it a-tearing; and tributed to my reader's repose both of 
Jack, who doted on that quality in him- 25 body and mind, the true ultimate end of 
self, allowed it at this time its full swing. ethics; but Jack was already gone a 
Thus it happened that, stripping down a flight-shot beyond his patience. And as 
parcel of gold lace a little too hastily, in scholastic disputes nothing serves to 
he rent the main body of his coat from rouse the spleen of him that opposes so 
top to bottom ; and whereas his talent 3° much as a kind of pedantic affected 
was not of the happiest in taking up a calmness in the respondent ; disputants 
stitch, he knew no better way than to being for the most part like unequal 
darn it again with packthread and a scales, where the gravity of one side ad- 
skewer. But the matter was yet in- vances the lightness of the other, and 
finitely worse (I record it with tears) 35 causes it to fly up and kick the beam; 
when he proceeded to the embroidery: so it happened here that the weight of 
for, being clumsy by nature, and of Martin's argument exalted Jack's levity, 
temper impatient; withal, beholding mil- and made him fly out, and spurn against 
lions of stitches that required the nicest his brother's moderation. In short. Mar- 
hand and sedatest constitution to extri- 4° tin's patience put Jack in a rage ; but 
cate ; in a great rage he tore off the whole that which most afflicted him was, to 
piece, cloth and all, and flung them into observe his brother's coat so well reduced 
the kennel, and furiously thus continu- into the state of innocence; while his 
ing his career : * Ah, good brother Mar- own was either wholly rent to his shirt, 
tin,' said he, ' do as I do, for the love of 45 or those places which had escaped his 
God; strip, tear, pull, rend, flay off all, cruel clutches were still in Peter's livery, 
that we may appear as unlike the rogue So that he looked hke a drunken beau, 
Peter as it is possible ; I would not for half rifled by bullies ; or like a fresh 
a hundred pounds carry the least mark tenant of Newgate, when he has refused 
about me that might give occasion to the 5° the payment of garnish ; or like a dis- 
neighbors of suspecting that I was re- covered shoplifter, left to the mercy of 
lated to such a rascal.' But Martin, who Exchange women ; or like a bawd in her 
at this time happened to be extremely old velvet petticoat, resigned into the 
phlegmatic and sedate, begged his secular hands of the mobile. Like any, 
brother, of all love, not to damage his 55 or like all these, a medley of rags, and 
coat by any means ; for he never would lace, and rents, and fringes, unfortunate 
get such another: desired him to consider Jack did now appear: he would have 
that it was not their business to form been extremely glad to see his coat in 



A TALE OF A TUB 313 



SECTION XI 



the condition of Martin's, btit infinitely 
gladder to find that of Martin \n the 
same predicament with his. However, After so wide a compass as I have 

since neither of these was likely to come wandered, I do now gladly overtake and 
to pass, he thought fit to lend the whole 5 close in with my subject, and shall 
business another turn, and to dress up henceforth hold on with it an even pace 
necessity into a virtue. Therefore, after to the end of my journey, except some 
as many of the fox's arguments as he beautiful prospect appears within sight 
could muster up, for bringing Martin to of my way; whereof though at present 
reason, as he called it ; or, as he meant 10 I have neither warning nor expectation, 
it, into his own ragged, bobtailed condi- yet upon such an accident, come when it 
tion; and observing he said all to little will, I shall beg my reader's favor and 
purpose ; what, alas ! was left for the company, allowing me to conduct him 
forlorn Jack to do, but, after a million through it along with myself. For in 
of scurrilities against his brother, to run 15 writing it is as in traveUng; if a man 
mad with spleen, and spite, and contradic- is in haste to be at home (which I 
tion. To be short, here began a mortal acknowledge to be none of my case, 
breach between these two. Jack went having never so little business as when 
immediately to new lodgings, and in a I am there), and his horse be tired with 
few days it was for certain reported that 20 long riding and ill ways, or be naturally 
he had run out of his wits. In a short a jade, I advise him clearly to make the 
time after he appeared abroad, and con- straightest . and the commonest road, be 
armed the report by falling into the it ever so dirty; but then surely we must 
oddest whimseys that ever a sick brain own such a man to be a scurvy com- 
conceived. 2s panion at best ; he spatters himself and 

And now the little boys in the streets his fellow-travelers at every step; all 
began to salute him with several names, their thoughts, and wishes, and conversa- 
Sometimes they would call him Jack the tion turn entirely upon the subject of 
bald;i sometimes, Jack with a lantern; 2 their journey's end; and at every splash, 
sometimes, Dutch Jack ; ^ sometimes, 3° and plunge, and stumble, they heartily 
French Hugh;* sometimes, Tom the wish one another at the devil, 
beggar ;s and sometimes. Knocking Jack On the other side, when a traveler 

of the North.8 And it was under one, and his horse are in heart and plight, 
or some, or all of these appellations, when his purse is full and the day before 
which I leave the learned reader to de- 35 him, he takes the road only where it is 
termine, that he has given rise to the clean and convenient; entertains his com- 
most illustrious and epidemic sect of pany there as agreeably as he can; but, 
Aeolists; who, with honorable commem- "po" the first occasion, carries them 
oration, do still acknowledge the re- ^^^^S with him to every delightful scene 
nowned JACK for their author and 40 in view, whether of art, of nature, or 
founder. Of whose original, as well as of both; and if they chance to refuse, 
principles, I am now advancing to gratify out of stupidity or weariness, let them 

the world with a very particular account. Jog on by themselves and be d n'd; 

he '11 overtake them at the next town ; 
-Melleo contingens cuncta lepore. '•S at which arriving, he rides furiously 

[Touching everything with a honeyed through; the men, women and children, 

, "^ , * run out of gaze ; a hundred ^ noisy curs 

■■' run barking after him, of which, if he 

, ^^ , . „ , . ^ , ^ , , honors the boldest with a lash of his 

^ That IS, Calvin, from calviis, bald. i • •, • ,, , r , ,, 

, . , 50 whip, it is rather out of sport than re- 

''All those who pretend to inward hght. ^^^^^ . ^^^ g^^^j^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^ mongrel 

hlltsi °^ ^''"^'"' "'''° ^^"^ "'' '° "'^ ^"^' ^^^^ *°° "^^^ ^" approach, he receives 

^f '^ ^' * a salute on the chaps by an accidental 

ihe Huguenots. ^^^.^j^^ ^^^^ ^^^ courser's heels, nor is 

_ »The Gueuses, by which name some Protestants ^ny ground lost by the blow, which sends 
m Flanders were called. u • 1 • j 'i- • i 

„^ , ^, him yelping and limping home. 

' John Knox, the reformer of Scotland. 

' By these are meant what the author calls the 
* * :(: true critics. 



314 JONATHAN SWIFT 



I now proceed to sum up the singular medicine.' In consequence of which rap- 
adventures of my renowned Jack; the tures, he resolved to make use of it in 
state of whose dispositions and fortunes the necessary as well as the most paltry 
the careful reader does, no doubt, most occasions of life.^ He had a way of 
exactly remember, as I last parted with 5 working it into any shape he pleased ; so 
them in the conclusion of a former sec- that it served him for a nightcap when 
tion. Therefore, his next care must be, he went to bed, and for an umbrella in 
from two of the foregoing, to extract a rainy weather. He would lap a piece of 
scheme of notions that may best fit his it about a sore toe, or, when he had fits, 
understanding for a true relish of what 10 burn two inches under his nose ; or, if 
is to ensue. anything lay heavy on his stomach, 

JACK had not only calculated the first scrape off and swallow as much of the 
revolution of his brain so prudently as powder as would lie on a silver penny; 
to give rise to that epidemic sect of they were all infallible remedies. With 
Aeolists, but succeeding also into a new ,5 analogy to these refinements, his common 
and strange variety of conceptions, the talk and conversation ran wholly in the 
fruitfulness of his imagination led him phrase of his will, and he circumscribed 
into certain notions, which, although in the utmost of his eloquence within that 
appearance very unaccountable, were not compass, not daring to let slip a syllable 
without their mysteries and their mean- 20 without authority from thence. . . . 
ings, nor wanted followers to countenance He made it a part of his rehgion never 

and improve them. I shall therefore be to say grace to his meat;^ nor could all 
extremely careful and exact in recount- the world persuade him, as the common 
ing such material passages of this nature phrase is, to eat his victuals like a chris- 
as I have been able to collect, either from 25 tian.^ 

undoubted tradition or indefatigable read- He bore a strange kind of appetite to 

ing; and shall describe them as graph- snap-dragon,* and to the livid snuffs of 
ically as it is possible, and as far as a burning candle, which he would catch 
notions of that height and latitude can and swallow with an agility wonderful 
be brought within the compass of a pen. 3° to conceive; and, by this procedure. 
Nor do I at all question but they will maintained a perpetual flame in his belly, 
furnish plenty of noble matter for such which, issuing in a glowing steam from 
whose converting imaginations dispose both his eyes, as well as his nostrils and 
them to reduce all things into types; his mouth, made his head appear, in a 
who can make shadows, no thanks to the 35 dark night, like the skull of an ass, 
sun; and then mould them into sub- wherein a roguish boy had conveyed a 
stances, no thanks to philosophy; whose farthing candle, to the terror of his 
peculiar talent lies in fixing tropes and majesty's liege subjects. Therefore, he 
allegories to the letter, and refining what made use of no other expedient to light 
is literal into figure and mystery. 4o himself home, but was wont to say that 

JACK had provided a fair copy of his a wise man was his own lantern, 
father's will, engrossed in form upon a He would shut his eyes as he walked 

large skin of parchment; and resolving along the streets, and if he happened to 
to act the part of a most dutiful son, he bounce his head against a post, or fall 
became the fondest creature of it im- 45 into a kennel, as he seldom missed either 
aginable. For although, as I have often to do one or both, he would tell the gib- 
told the reader, it consisted wholly in 

certain plain, easy directions, about the ^The author here lashes those pretenders t9 

management and wearing their coats, P""ty. who place so much merit in using Scnp- 

. => . J , ? . I ture phrases on all occasions. 

Wlth_ legacies, and penalties m case of 50 2 The slovenly way of receiving the sacrament 

obedience or neglect, yet he began to among the fanatics. 

entertain a fancy that the matter was , ' ^Ws is a common phrase to _ express eating 

1 111 1 ,1 r i cleanly, and is meant for an invective against that 

deeper and darker, and therefore must indecent manner among some people in receiving 
needs have a great deal more of mystery the sacrament; so in the lines before, which is to 
at the bottom. ' Gentlemen,' said he, 55 ^^ understood of the Dissenters refusing to kneel 

'I will prove this very skin of parch- ^^^^ sacrament 

t_ j-1 jiLiU '■ carinot well find out the author s meaning 

ment to be meat, drink, and Cloth,_ to be here, unless it be the hot, untimely, blind zeal of 

the philosopher's stone and the universal enthusiasts. 



A TALE OF A TUB 315 



ing prentices who looked on that he giant Laurcalco/ who was lord of the 
subrnitted with entire resignation as to silver bridge. Most properly, therefore, 
a trip or a blow of fate, with -vnhom he O eyes, and with great justice, may you 
found, by long experience, how vain it be compared to those foolish lights which 
was either to wrestle or to cuff; and 5 conduct men through dirt and darkness, 
whoever durst undertake to do either till they fall into a deep pit or a noisome 
would be sure to come off with a swing- bog.' 

ing fall or a bloody nose. * It was This I have produced as a scantling of 

ordained,' said he, ' some few days be- Jack's great eloquence, and the force of 
fore the creation, that my nose and this 10 his reasoning upon such abstruse matters. 
very post should have a rencounter; and He was, besides, a person of great de- 

therefore nature thought fit to send us sign and improvement in affairs of 
both into the world in the same age, and devotion, having introduced a new deity, 
to make us countrymen and fellow-citi- who has since met with a vast number 
zens. Now, had my eyes been open, 15 of worshippers ; by some called Babel, by 
it is very likely the business might have others Chaos, who had an ancient temple 
been a great deal worse; for how many of Gothic structure upon Salisbury plain, 
a confounded slip is daily got by a man famous for its shrine and celebration by 
with all this foresight about him? Be- pilgrims. 

sides, the eyes of the understanding see 20 When he had some roguish trick to 
best when those of the senses are out play,- he would down with his knees, up 
of the way; and therefore blind men are with his eyes, and fall to prayers, though 
observed to tread their steps with much in the midst of the kennel. Then it was 
more caution, and conduct, and judg- that those who understood his pranks 
ment, than those who rely with too much 25 would be sure to get far enough out of 
cofindence upon the virtue of the visual his way; and whenever curiosity at- 
nei-ve, which every little accident shakes tracted strangers to laugh or to listen, 
out of order, and a drop or a film can he would, of a sudden, . . .all be- 
whoily disconcert; like a lantern among spatter them with mud. 
a pack of roaring bullies when they 3o in winter he went always loose and 
scour the streets, exposing its owner and unbuttoned,^ and clad as thin as possible 
itself to outward kicks and buffets, which to let in the ambient heat; and in summer 
both might have escaped if the vanity lapped himself close and thick to keep it 
of appearing would have suffered them out. 

to walk in ihe dark. But farther, if we 35 In all revolutions of government * he 
examine the conduct of these boasted would make his court for the office of 
lights, it will prove yet a great deal hangman general; and in the exercise 
worse than their fortune. 'T is true, I of that dignity, where he was very 
have broke my nose against this post, dexterous, would make use of no other 
because fortune either forgot, or did not 40 vizard ^ than a long prayer, 
think it convenient, to twitch me by the He had a tongue so musculous and 

elbow, and give me notice to avoid it. subtile, that he could twist it up into his 
But let not this encourage either the nose, and deliver a strange kind of 
present age or posterity to trust their speech from thence. He was also the 
noses into the keeping of their eyes, 45 first in these kingdoms who began to 
which may prove the fairest way of improve the Spanish accomplishment of 
losing them for good and all. For, O ye braying; and having large ears, perpetu- 
eyes, ye bhnd guides; miserable guard- ally exposed and erected, he carried his 
ians are ye of our frail noses ; ye, I say, art to such perfection, that it was a point 
who fasten upon the first precipice in 5° 
view, and then tow our wretched willing ^ Vide [See] Don Quixote. 

bodies after you to the very brink of , ' The villainies and cruelties, committed by en- 
j . ,• -n J. 1 I J.1 X. i_ • 1 • thusiasts and fanatics among us, were all performed 

destruction. But alas ! that brink is ^^^er the disguise of religion and long prayers. 
rotten, our feet slip, and we tumble ^They affect differences in habit and behavior, 

down prone into a gulf, without one 55 ^They are severe persecutors and all in a 

hospitable shrub in the way to break the ^°™ °^ ^^"/ ^"^ devotion 

. ,,'^ .- 11 . 1-1 / r Cromwell and his confederates went, as they 

fall; a tall to which not any nose Ot called it, to seek the Lord, when they resolved to 

mortal make is equal, except that of the tnurder the king. 



3i6 JONATHAN SWIFT 



of great difficulty to distinguish, either by procure a basting sufficient to swell up 
the view or the sound, between the orig- his fancy and his sides, he would return 
inal and the copy. home extremely comforted, and full of 

He was troubled with a disease reverse terrible accounts of what he had under- 
to that called the stinging of the taran- 5 gone for the public good. ' Observe this 
tula; and would run dog-mad at the noise stroke,' said he, showing his bare shoul- 
of music, especially a pair of bagpipes. ders; 'a plaguy janizary gave it me this 
But he would cure himself again by tak- very morning, at seven o'clock, as, with 
ing two or three turns in Westminster- much ado, I was driving off the great 
hall, or Billingsgate, or in the boarding- lo Turk. Neighbors, mind, this broken 
school, or the Royal Exchange, or a state head deserves a plaster; had poor Jack 
coffee-house. been tender of his noddle, you would 

He was a person that feared no colors, have seen the pope and the French king, 
but mortally hated all, and, upon that ac- long before this time of day, among your 
count, bore a cruel aversion against 15 wives and your warehouses. Dear 
painters,^ insomuch that, in his parox- christians, the great Mogul was come as 
ysms, as he walked the streets, he would far as Whitechapel, and you may thank 
have his pockets loaden with stones to these poor sides that he hath not (God 
pelt at the signs. bless us!) already swallowed up man, 

Having, from this manner of living, 20 woman, and child.' 
frequent occasion to wash himself, he It was highly worth observing the 

would often leap over head and ears into singular effects of that aversion * or 
the water, though it were in the midst antipathy which Jack and his brother 
of the winter, but was always observed Peter seemed, even to an affectation, to 
to come out again much dirtier, if pos- 25 bear toward each other. Peter had 
sible, than he went in. lately done some rogueries that forced 

He was the first that ever found out him to abscond, and he seldom ventured 
the secret of contriving a soporiferous to stir out before night, for fear of bail- 
medicine to be conveyed in at the ears ; ^ ifts. Their lodgings were at the two 
it was a compound of sulphur and balm 3o most distant parts of the town from each 
of Gilead, with a little pilgrim's salve. other; and whenever their occasions or 

He wore a large plaster of artificial humors called them abroad, they would 
caustics on his stomach, with the fervor make choice of the oddest unlikely times, 
of which he could set himself a-groaning, and most uncouth rounds they could in- 
like the famous board upon application 35 vent, that they might be sure to avoid 
of a red-hot iron. one another; yet, after all this, it was 

He would stand in the turning of a their perpetual fortune to meet. The 
street, and, calling to those who passed reason of which is easy enough to ap- 
by, would cry to one, ' Worthy sir, do prehend ; for, the frenzy and the spleen 
me the honor of a good slap in the 40 of both having the same foundation, we 
chaps.' 3 To another, ' Honest friend, may look upon them as two pair of com- 
pray favor me with a handsome kick on passes, equally extended, and the fixed 
the arse : Madam, shall I entreat a small foot of each remaining in the same 
box on the ear from your ladyship's fair center, which, though moving contrary 
hands? Noble captain, lend a reason- 45 ways at first, will be sure to encounter 
able thwack, for the love of God, with somewhere or other in the circumfer- 
that cane of yours over these poor shoul- ence. Besides, it was among the great 
ders.' And when he had, by such misfortunes of Jack to bear a huge per- 
earnest solicitations, made a shift to sonal resemblance with his brother 

50 Peter. Their humor and dispositions 

^They quarrel at the most innocent decency and were not Only the same, but there waS a 
ornament, and defaced the statues and paintings ^j^g^ analogy in their shape, and size, 

•^FLltrct.-d^ng;^fited■ either of hell and and their mien. Insomuch, that nothing 

damnation, or a fulsome description of the joys waS more frequent than for a bauiff tO 

of heaven; both in such a dirty, nauseous style, 55 

as to be well resembled to pilgrim's salve. ^ The Papists and fanatics, though they appear 

=* The fanatics have always had a way of affect- the most averse to each other, yet bear a near 

ing to run into persecution, and count vast merit resemblance in many things, as has been observed 

upon every little hardship they suffer. by learned men. 



A TALE OF A TUB 317 

seize Jack by the shoulder, and cry, Efifugiet tamen haec sceleratus vincula Pro- 
' Mr. Peter, you are the king's prisoner.' teus. 

Or, at other times, for one of Peter's [Still wicked Proteus eludes these chains.] 
nearest friends to accost Jack with open 

arms, ' Dear Peter, I am glad to see 5 It is good, therefore, to read the max- 
thee ; pray send me one of your best ims of our ancestors, with great allow- 
medicines for the worms.' This, we may ances to times and persons ; for, if we 
suppose, was a mortifying return of look into primitive records, we shall find 
those pains and proceedings Jack had that no revolutions have been so great 
labored in so long ; and finding how 10 or so frequent as those of human ears, 
directly opposite all his endeavors had In former days there was a curious in- 
answered to the sole end and intention vention to catch and keep them, which 
which he had proposed to himself, how I think we may justly reckon among the 
could it avoid having terrible effects artes perditce [lost arts] ; and how can 
upon a head and heart so furnished as 15 it be otherwise, when in the latter cen- 
his? However, the poor remainders of turies the very species is not only dimin- 
his coat bore all the punishment; the ished to a very lamentable degree, but the 
orient sun never entered upon his poor remainder is also degenerated so 
diurnal progress without missing a piece far as to mock our skilfullest tenure? 
of it. He hired a tailor to stitch up the 20 For, if the only slitting of one ear in 
collar so close that it was ready to a stag has been found sufficient to prop- 
choke him, and squeezed out his eyes agate the defect through a whole for- 
at such a rate as one could see nothing est, why should we wonder at the 
but the white. What little was left of greatest consequences from so many lop- 
the main substance of the coat he rub- 25 pings and mutilations to which the ears 
bed every day for two hours against a of our fathers, and our own, have been 
rough-cast wall, in order to grind away of late so much exposed? It is true, 
the remnants of lace and embroidery; indeed, that while this island of ours was 
but at the same time went on with so under the dominion of grace, many en- 
much violence that he proceeded a 3° deavors were made to improve the 
heathen philosopher. Yet, after all he growth of ears once more among us. 
could do of this kind, the success con- The proportion of largeness was not only 
tinned still to disappoint his expecta- looked upon as an ornament of the out- 
tion. For, as it is the nature of rags ward man, but as a type of grace in the 
to bear a kind of mock resemblance to 35 inward. Lastly, the devouter sisters, 
finery, there being a sort of fluttering who looked upon all extraordinary dilata- 
appearance in both which is not to be tions of that member as protrusions of 
distinguished at a distance, in the dark, zeal, or spiritual excrescences, were 
or by short-sighted eyes, so, in those sure to honor every head they sat upon 
junctures, it fared with Jack and his 4° as if they had been marks of grace ;^ 
tatters, that they offered to the first view but especially that of the preacher, 
a ridiculous flaunting, which, assisting whose ears were usually of the prime 
the resemblance in person and air, magnitude ; which, upon that account, 
thwarted all his projects of separation, he was very frequent and exact in ex- 
and left so near a similitude between 45 posing with all advantages to the peo- 
them as frequently deceived the very pie; in his rhetorical paroxysms turning 
disciples and followers of both. sometimes to hold forth the one, and 

• sometimes to hold forth the other: from 

which custom the whole operation of 

Desunl non- 5° preaching is to this very day, among 

nulla [something is wanting]. , their professors, styled by the phrase 

of holding forth. 
The old Sclavonian proverb said well, Such was the progress of the saints 

that it is with men as with asses; who- for advancing the size of that member; 
ever would keep them fast must find a 55 and it is thought the success would have 
very good hold at their ears. Yet I been every way answerable, if, in proc- 
think we may affirm that it hath been 1 a, ,-f th^,, v,,^ i,»» 1 

•r 1 . , 1 . , AS It they had been cloven tonirues. — Firjt 

verified by repeated experience that— Edition. 



3i8 JONATHAN SWIFT ' 



ess of time, a cruel king had not risen/ all due points, to the delicate taste of 
who raised a bloody persecution against this our noble age. But, alas! with my 
all ears above a certain standard; upon utmost endeavors, I have been able only 
which, some were glad to hide their to retain a few of the heads. Under 
flourishing sprouts in a black border, 5 which, there was a full account how 
others crept wholly under a periwig; Peter got a protection out of the king's 
some were slit, others cropped, and a bench ; and of a reconcilement ^ between 
great number sliced off to the stumps. Jack and him, upon a design they had, 
But of this more hereafter in my general in a certain rainy night, to trepan 
history of ears, which I design very lo brother Martin into a spunging-house, 
speedily to bestow upon the public. and there strip him to the skin. How 

From this brief survey of the falling Martin, with much ado, showed them 
state of ears in the last age, and the both a fair pair of heels. How a new 
small care had to advance their ancient warrant came out against Peter; upon 
growth in the present, it is manifest how 15 which, how Jack left him in the lurch, 
Httle reason we can have to rely upon stole his protection, and made use of it 
a hold so short, so weak, and so slippery, himself. How Jack's tatters came into 
and that whoever desires to catch man- fashion in court and city; how he got 
kind fast must have recourse to some upon a great horse,* and eat custard.^ 
other methods. Now, he that will 20 But the particulars of all these, with 
examine human nature with circumspec- several others which have now slid out 
tion enough maj^ discover several handles, of my memory, are lost beyond all hopes 
whereof the six^ senses afford one- of recovery. For which misfortune, 
a-piece, beside a great num.ber that are leaving my readers to condole with each 
screwed to the passions, and some few 25 other, as far as they shall find it to agree 
riveted to the intellect. Among these with their several constitutions, but con- 
last, curiosity is one, and of all others, juring them by all the friendship that 
affords the firmest grasp: curiosity, that has passed between us, from the title- 
spur in the side, that bridle in the mouth, page to this, not to proceed so far as to 
that ring in the nose, of a lazy and im- 30 injure their healths for an accident past 
patient and a grunting reader. By this remedy — I now go on to the ceremonial 
handle it is, that an author should seize part of an accomplished writer, and 
upon his readers; which as soon as he therefore, by a courtly modern, least of 
has once compassed, all resistance and all others to be omitted, 
struggling are in vain; and they become 35 ^ ^ -^ (1704) 

his prisoners as close as he pleases, till \ / '^J 

weariness or dulness force him to let ,,^^^^,^,^,, ttt^^^t * ^T^r^^■^r 

go his grip A MEDITATION UPON A BROOM- 

And therefore, I, the author of this STICK, according to the style and 

miraculous treatise, having hitherto, be- 40 manner of the hon. robert boyle s 
yond expectation, maintained, by the meditations 

aforesaid handle, a firm hold upon my rj,^.^ ^. ^. ^^-^^ ^^-^^^ ^^^ ^^_ 

gentle readers, It is with great reluctance ^^^^ ingloriously lying in that neglected 
that I am at length compelled to remit ^ j j i^ 

my grasp ; leaving them, in the perusal 45 ^ In the reign of King James the Second 
r^f Tx.lrit rpmni'n<; tn that natural osci- *^^ Presbyterians, by the king's invitation, 
Ot Wtiat remains, to mat narurai OSCl ^.^.^^^ ^.^j^ ^j^^ Papists, against the Church 

tancy inherent m the tribe. 1 can only ^f England, and addressed him for repeal of the 

assure thee, courteous reader, for both penal laws and test. The king, by his dispensing 

our comforts, that my concern is alto- power, gave liberty of conscience, which both 

,, 1 1 XL- / I, • „^ Papists and Presbyterians made use of; but, upon 

gether equal to thme for my UnhappmesS 50 ^^e"^ Revolution, the Papists being down of course, 

in losing, or mislaying among my papers, the Presbyterians freely continued their assemblies, 

the remaining part of these memoirs ; by virtue of King James's indulgence, before they 

which consisted of accidents, turns, and had a toleration by law. This I believe the author 

, , ,, t.1 J means by Jack s stealing Peter s protection, and 

adventures, both new, agreeable, and ^^^-^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ himself. 

surprising; and therefore calculated, m 55 * sir Humphry Edwyn, a Presbyterian, when 

lord-mayor of London, in 1697, had the insolence 

1 This was King Charles the Second, who, at his to go in his formalities to a conventicle, with the 
restoration, turned out all the dissenting teachers ensigns of his office, 
that would not conform. * Custard is a famous dish at a lord-mayor's 

"Including Scaliger's. feast. 



J: MODEST PROPOSAL 319 



corner, I once knew in a flourishing kicked out of doors, or made use of to 
state in a forest; it was full of sap, full kindle flames for others to warm theni- 
of leaves, and full of boughs; but now selves by. 

in vain does the busy art of man pre- (1704) 

tend to vie with nature, by tying that S 
withered bundle of twigs to its sapless 

trunk; 'tis now at best but the reverse A MODEST PROPOSAL 

of what it was, a tree turned upside p-oR preventing the children of poor 
down, the branches on the earth, and people in Ireland from being a bur- 

the root in the air; 'tis now handled 10 den to their parents or country, 
by every dirty wench, condemned to do and for making them beneficial to 

her drudgery, and, by a capricious kind the public 

of fate, destined to make other things 

clean, and be nasty itself; at length, It is a melancholy object to those who 

worn to the stumps in the service of 15 walk through this great town or travel 
the maids, it is either thrown out of in the country, when they see the streets, 
door, or condemned to the last use, of the roads, and cabin doors, crowded with 
kindling a fire. When I beheld this, I beggars of the female sex, followed by 
sighed, and said within myself: three, four, or six children, all in rags 
SURELY MAN IS A BROOMSTICK! 20 and importuning every passenger for an 
nature sent him into the world strong alms. These mothers, instead of being 
and lusty, in a thriving condition, wear- able to work for their honest livelihood, 
ing his own hair on his head, the proper are forced to employ all their time in 
branches of this reasoning vegetable, strolling to beg sustenance for their help- 
'mtil the axe of intemperance has lopped 25 less infants : who as they grow up either 
)ff his green boughs, and left him a turn thieves for want of work, or leave 
withered trunk; he then flies to art, and their dear native country to fight for the 
puts on a periwig, valuing himself upon pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to 
an unnatural bundle of hairs, all cov- the Barbadoes. 

ered with powder, that never grew on 3° I think it is agreed by all parties that 
his head; but now should this our broom- this prodigious number of children in 
stick pretend to enter the scene, proud the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels 
of those birchen spoils it never bore, of their mothers, and frequently of their 
and all covered with dust, though the fathers, is in the present deplorable state 
sweepings of the finest lady's chamber, 35 of the kingdom a very great additional 
we should be apt to ridicule and despise grievance ; and, therefore, whoever could 
its vanity. Partial judges that we are find out a fair, cheap, and easy method 
of our own excellences, and other men's of making these children sound, useful 
defaults ! members of the commonwealth, would 

But a broomstick, perhaps you will 40 deserve so well of the public as to have 
ijay, is an emblem of a tree standing on his statue set up for a preserver of the 
its head ; and pray, what is man but a nation. 

topsy-turvy creature, his animal faculties But my intention is very far from be- 

perpetually mounted on his rational ; ■ his ing confined to provide only for the chil- 
head where his heels should be, grovel- 45 dren of professed beggars ; it is of a 
jng on the earth ! and yet, with all his much greater extent, and shall take in 
faults, he sets up to be a universal re- the whole number of infants at a certain 
former and corrector of abuses, a re- age who are born of parents in effect 
mover of grievances; rakes into every as little able to support them as those 
slut's corner of nature, bringing hidden 50 who demand our charity in the streets, 
corruption to the light, and raises a As to my own part, having turned my 

mighty dust where there was none be- thoughts for many years upon this im- 
fore; sharing deeply all the while in portant subject, and maturely weighed 
the very same pollutions he pretends to the several schemes of other projectors, 
sweep away : his last days are spent in 55 1 have always found them grossly mis- 
slavery to women, and generally the least taken in the computation. It is true, a 
deserving, till, worn out to the stumps, child just dropped from its dam may be 
like his brother besom, he is either supported by her milk for a solar year, 



320 JONATHAN SWIFT 



with little other nourishment; at most the age of six, even in a part of the king- 
not above the value of 2s., which the dom so renowned for the quickest pro- 
mother may certainly get, or the value ficiency in that art. 

in scraps, by her lawful occupation of I am assured by our merchants, that a 

begging ; and it is exactly at one year 5 boy or a girl before twelve years old is 
old that I propose to provide for them no salable commodity; and even when 
in such a manner as instead of being a they come to this age they will not yield 
charge upon their parents or the parish, above three pounds, or three pounds and 
or wanting food and raiment for the rest half-a-crown at most on the exchange ; 
of their lives, they shall on the contrary lo which cannot turn to account either to 
contribute to the feeding, and partly to the parents or kingdom, the charge of 
the clothing, of many thousands. nutriment and rags having been at least 

There is likewise another great ad- four times that value, 
vantage in my scheme, that it will pre- I shall now therefore humbly propose 

vent those voluntary abortions, and that 15 niy own thoughts, which I hope will not 
horrid practice of women murdering be liable to the least objection, 
their bastard children, alas ! too frequent I have been assured by a very knowing 

among us ! sacrificing the poor innocent American of my acquaintance in London, 
babes I doubt more to avoid the expense that a young healthy child well nursed 
than the shame, which would move tears 20 is at a year old a most delicious, nourish- 
and pity in the most savage and inhuman ing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, 
breast. roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no 

The number of souls in this kingdom doubt that it will equally serve in a 
being usually reckoned one million and fricassee or a ragout. 
a half, of these I calculate there may be 25 I do therefore humbly offer it to pub- 
about two hundred thousand couple lie consideration that of the hundred and 
whose wives are breeders; from which twenty thousand children already com- 
number I subtract thirty thousand couples puted, twenty thousand may be reserved 
who are able to maintain their own chil- for breed, whereof only one-fourth part 
dren, although I apprehend there cannot 3o to be males; which is more than we al- 
be so many, under the present distresses low to sheep, black cattle or swine; and 
of the kingdom; but this being granted, my reason is, that these children are 
there will remain an hundred and seventy seldom the fruits of marriage, a circum- 
thousand breeders. I again substract fifty stance not much regarded by our savages, 
thousand for those women who miscarry, 35 therefore one male will be sufficient to 
or whose children die by accident or dis- serve four females. That the remaining 
ease within the year. There only re- hundred thousand may, at a year old, be 
mains one hundred and twenty thousand offered in the sale to the persons of 
children of poor parents annually born, quality and fortune through the kingdom; 
The question therefore is, how this num- 40 always advising the mother to let them 
ber shall be reared and provided for, suck plentifully in the last month, so as 
which, as I have already said, under the to render them plump and fat for a good 
present situation of affairs, is utterly table. A child will make two dishes at 
impossible by all the methods hitherto an entertainment for friends; and when 
proposed. For we can neither employ 45 the family dines alone, the fore or hind 
.them in handicraft or agriculture; we quarter will make a reasonable dish, and 
neither build houses (I mean in the seasoned with a little pepper or salt will 
country) nor cultivate land: they can be very good boiled on the fourth day, 
very seldom pick up a livelihood by steal- especially in winter. 

ing, till they arrive at six years old, except 5° I have reckoned upon a medium that a 
where they are of towardly parts, although child just born will weigh 12 pounds, 
I confess they learn the rudiments much and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, 
earlier, during which time, they can how- increaseth to 28 pounds, 
ever be properly looked upon only as I grant this food will be somewhat 

probationers, as I have been mformed by ^5 dear, and therefore very proper for land- 
a princijial gentleman in the county of lords, who, as they have already devoured 
Cavan, who protested to me that he never most of the parents, seem to have the best 
knew above one or two instances under title to the children. 



A MODEST PROPOSAL " 321 



Infant's flesh will be in season through- ents, if aUve, or otherwise by their near- 
out the year, but more plentiful in March, est relations. But with due deference to 
and a little before and after; for we are so excellent a friend and so deserving a 
told by a grave author, an eminent patriot, I cannot be altogether in his 
French physician, that fish being a pro- S sentiments ; for as to the males, my 
lific diet, there are more children born American acquaintance assured me, from 
in Roman Catholic countries about nine frequent experience, that their flesh was 
months after Lent than at any other generally tough and lean, like that of our 
season; therefore, reckoning a year after school-boys by continual exercise, and 
Lent, the markets will be more glutted 10 their taste disagreeable ; and to fatten 
than usual, because the number of popish them would not answer the charge, 
infants is at least three to one in this Then as to the females, it would, I think, 
kingdom: and therefore it will have one with humble submission be a loss to the 
other collateral advantage, by lessening public, because they soon would become 
the number of papists among us. 15 breeders themselves ; and besides, it is not 

I have already computed the charge of improbable that some scrupulous people 

nursing a beggar's child (in which list might be apt to censure such a practice 

I reckon all cottagers, laborers, and four- (although indeed very unjustly), as a 

fifths of the farmers) to be about two little bordering upon cruelty; which, I 

shillings per annum, rags included; and 20 confess, hath always been with me the 

I believe no gentleman would repine to strongest objection against any project, 

give ten shillings for the carcass of a however so well intended, 

good fat child, which, as I have said, But in order to justify my friend, he 

will make four dishes of excellent nutri- confessed that this expedient was put 

tive meat, when he hath only some par- 2: into his head by the famous Psalmanazar, 

ticular friend or his own family to dine a native of the island Formosa, who came 

with him. Thus the squire will learn to from thence to London above twenty 

be a good landlord, and grow popular years ago, and in conversation told my 

among his tenants ; the mother will have friend, that in his country when any 

eight shilHngs net profit, and be fit for 30 young person happened to be put to death, 

work till she produces another child. the executioner sold the carcass to per- 

Those who are more thrifty (as I must sons of quality as a prime dainty; and 

confess the times require) may flay the that in his time the body of a plump 

carcass ; the skin of which artificially girl of fifteen, who was crucified for an 

dressed will make admirable gloves for 35 attempt to poison the emperor, was sold 

ladies, and summer boots for fine gentle- to his imperial majesty's prime minister 

men. of state, and other great mandarins of 

As to our city of Dublin, shambles may the court, in joints from the gibbet, at 

be appointed for this purpose in the most four hundred crowns. Neither indeed 

convenient parts of it, and butchers we 40 can I deny, that if the same use were 

may be assured will not be wanting; al- made of several plump young girls in 

though I rather recommend buying the this town, who without one single groat 

children ahve than dressing them hot to their fortunes cannot stir abroad 

from the knife as we do roasting pigs. without a chair, and appear at playhouse 

A very worthy person, a true lover of 45 and assemblies in foreign fineries which 

his country, and whose virtues I highly they never will pay for,, the kingdom 

esteem, was lately pleased in discoursing would not be the worse. 

on this matter to offer a refinement upon Some persons of a desponding spirit 

my scheme. He said that many gentle- are in great concern about that vast 

men of this kingdom, having of late de- 50 number of poor people, who are aged, 
stroyed their deer, he conceived that the diseased, or maimed, and I have been 
want of venison might be well supplied desired to employ my thoughts what 

■ by the' bodies of young lads and maidens, course may be taken to case the nation 
not exceeding fourteen years of age nor of so grievous an encumbrance. But I 
under twelve ; so great a number of both 55 am not in the least pain upon that matter, 
sexes in every country being now ready because it is very well known that they 

to starve for want of work and service ; are every day dying and rotting by cold 
and these to be disposed of by their par- and famine, and filth and vermin, as fast 



322 ' JONATHAN SWIFT 



as can be reasonably expected. And as gentlemen, who justly value themselves 
to the young laborers, they are now in as upon their knowledge in good eating: 
hopeful a condition; they cannot get and a skilful cook, who understands how 
work, and consequently pine away for to oblige his guests, will contrive to make 
want of nourishment, to a degree that if 5 it as expensive as they please, 
at any time they are accidentally hired Sixthly, This would be a great induce 

to common labor, they have not strength ment to marriage, which all wise nations, 
to perform it; and thus the country and have either encouraged by rewards or 
themselves are happily delivered from the enforced by laws and penalties. It would 
evils to come. lo increase the care and tenderness of 

I have too long digressed, and therefore mothers toward their children, when 
shall return to my subject. I think the they were sure of a settlement for life 
advantages by the proposal which I have to the poor babes, provided in some sort 
made are obvious and many, as well as by the public, to their annual profit in- 
of the highest importance. iS stead of expense. We should see an 

For first, as I have already observed, honest emulation among the married 
it would greatly lessen the number of women, which of them could bring the 
papists, with whom we are yearly over- fattest child to the market. Men would 
run, being the principal breeders of the become as fond of their wives during the 
nation as well as our most dangerous 20 time of their pregnancy as they are now 
enemies ; and who stay at home on pur- of their mares in foal, their cows in calf, 
pose with a design to deliver the king- their sows when they are ready to far- 
dom to the pretender, hoping to take their row; nor offer to beat or kick them (as is 
advantage by the absence of so many too frequent a practice) for fear of a 
good protestants, who have chosen rather 25 miscarriage. 

to leave their country than stay at home Many other advantages might be enu- 

and pay tithes against their conscience merated. For instance, the addition of 
to an episcopal curate. some thousand carcasses in our exporta- 

Secondly, The poorer tenants will have tion of barreled beef, the propagation of 
something valuable of their own, which 3° svv'ine's flesh, and improvement in the art 
by law may be made liable to distress of making good bacon, so much wanted 
and help to pay their landlord's rent, among us by the great destruction of pigs, 
their corn and cattle being already seized, too frequent at our tables ; which are no 
■ ind money a thing unknown. way comparable in taste or magnificence 

Thirdly, Whereas the maintenance of 35 to a well-grown, fat, yearling child, which 
an hundred thousand children, from two roasted whole will make a considerable 
years old and upward, cannot be com- figure at a lord mayor's feast or any other 
puted at less than ten shillings a-piece public entertainment. But this and many 
per annum, the nation's stock will be others I omit, being studious of brevity, 
thereby increased fifty thousand pounds 40 Supposing that one thousand families 
per annum, beside the profit of a new in this city would be constant customers 
dish introduced to {he tables of all gentle- for infants' flesh, beside others who might 
men of fortune in the kingdom who have have it at merry-meetings, particularly 
any refinement in taste. And the money weddings and christenings, I compute that 
will circulate among ourselves, the goods 45 Dublin would take off annually about 
being entirely of our own growth and twenty thousand carcasses; and the rest 
manufacture. of the kingdom (where probably they will 

Fourthly, The constant breeders, beside be sold somewhat cheaper) the remaining 
the gain of eight shillings sterling per eighty thousand. 

annum by the sale of their children, will 5o I can think of no one objection that 
be rid of the charge of maintaining them will possibly be raised against this pro- 
after the first year. posal, unless it should be urged that the 

Fifthly, This food would likewise bring number of people will be thereb;^ much 
great custom to taverns ; where the vint- lessened in the kingdom. This I freely 
ners will certainly be so prudent as to 55 own, and was indeed one principal de- 
procure the best receipts for dressing it sign in offering it to the world. I desire 
to perfection, and consequently have the reader will observe, that I calculate 
their houses frequented by all the fine my remedy for this one individual king- 



A MODEST PROPOSAL 323 



dom of Ireland and for no other that ever glad to eat up our whole nation without 
was, is, or I think ever can be upon earth. it. 

Therefore let no man talk to me of other After all, I am not so violently bent 

expedients: of taxing our absentees at upon my own opinion as to reject any 
five shillings a pound ; of using neither 5 offer proposed by wise men, which shall 
clothes nor household furniture except be found equally innocent, cheap, easy, 
what is of our own growth and manu- and effectual. But before something of 
facture; of utterly rejecting the materials that kind shall be advanced in contradic- 
and instruments that promote foreign tion to my scheme, and offering a better, 
luxury; of curing the expensiveness of 10 1 desire the author or authors will be 
pride, vanity, idleness, and gaming in our pleased maturely to consider two points, 
women; of introducing a vein of parsi- First, as things now stand, how they will 
mony, prudence, and temperance ; of be able to find food and raiment for an 
learning to love our country, wherein we hundred thousand useless mouths and 
differ even from Laplanders and the 15 backs. And secondly, there being a 
inhabitants of Topinamboo; of quitting round million of creatures in human 
our animosities and factions, nor act any figure throughout this kingdom, whose 
longer like the Jews, who were murdering whole subsistence put into a common 
one another at the very moment their city stock would leave them in debt two mil- 
was taken; of being a little cautious not 20 lions of pounds sterling, adding those who 
to sell our country and conscience for are beggars by profession to the bulk of 
nothing; of teaching landlords to have farmers, cottagers, and laborers, with 
at least one degree of mercy toward their their wives and children who are beggars 
tenants; lastly, of putting a spirit of in effect: I desire those politicians v/ho 
honesty, industry, and skill into our shop- 25 dislike my overture, and may perhaps be 
keepers ; who, if a resolution could now so bold as to attempt an answer, that 
be taken to buy only our native goods, they will first ask the parents of these 
would immediately unite to cheat and ex- mortals, whether they would not at this 
act upon us in the price, the measure, and day think it a great happiness to have 
the goodness, nor could ever yet be 30 been sold for food at a year old in the 
brought to make one fair proposal of just manner I prescribe, and thereby have 
dealing, though often and earnestly in- avoided such a perpetual scene of mis- 
vited to it. fortunes as they have since gone through 

Therefore I repeat, let no man talk by the oppression of landlords, the im- 
to me of these and the like expedients, till 35 possibility of paying rent without money 
he hath at least some glimpse of hope that or trade, the want of common sustenance,' 
there will be ever some hearty and sincere with neither house nor clothes to cover 
attempt to put them in practice. them from the inclemencies of the 

But as to myself, having been wearied weather, and the most inevitable prospect 
out for many years with offering vain, 40 of entailing the like or greater miseries 
idle, visionary thoughts, and at length upon their breed for ever, 
utterly despairing of success I fortunately I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, 

fell upon this proposal; which, as it is that I have not the least personal interest 
wholly new, so it hath something solid in endeavoring to promote this necessary 
and real, of no expense and little trouble, 45 work, having no other motive than the 
full in our own power, and whereby we public good of my country, by advancing 
can incur no danger in disobliging Eng- our trade, providing for infants, reliev- 
LAND. For this kind of commodity will ing the poor, and giving some pleasure 
not bear exportation, the flesh being of to the rich. I have no children by which 
too tender a consistence to admit a long 50 I can propose to get a single penny ; the 
continuance in salt, although perhaps I youngest being nine years old, and my 
eould name a country which would be wife past child-bearing. 

(1729) 

55 



' SIR RICHARD STEELE (1672-1729) 

Steele, like Swift, was born in Dublin. He passed, with Addison, through. Charterhouse 
School to Oxford, but soon left the university to seek his fortune in the anny. By 1701, he 
had gained a captaincy in the Tower Guards and was a vivacious figure among the wits who 
haunted the coffee-houses, clubs, and theaters of London. Several comedies, in which he 
made a manly and effective effort to win a place for decency on the English stage, were still 
sprightly enough to sustain his reputation as a wit and good fellow. He was soon taken on 
by the government and, in 1707, was commissioned to write The Gazette. While officially 
' keeping that paper very innocent and very insipid,' Steele discovered the possibilities of 
periodical writing. Two years later he began The Tatler, picking up as a disguise the char- 
acter of a fictitious astrologer, Isaac Bickerstaff, which Swift had let drop after provoking 
the town to hilarious scoffing at one Partridge, an almanac-maker. Addison soon penetrated 
the disguise and was eagerly welcomed as a contributor. After about a year, Steele and 
Addison together devised the more commodious plan of The Spectator. The novel periodical 
created and supplied a new kind of literary demand. Its freedom from party bias, and thfi— 
penetrating and yet urbane irony of its portrayals and criticisms of English manners gave 
it a wide appeal. The Spectator became a part of the * tea-equipage ' in London clubs and 
coffee-houses and wide-awake provincial homes. It turned out a valuable pecuniary asset ; 
but the partnership did not last. Steele was a turbulent politician; Addison disapproved of 
his factious spirit; and, after the earlier numbers of The Guardian (1713), they ceased to 
collaborate. None of the later periodicals of either approximated the success of The Spectator. 
Steele was now approaching the liveliest part of his life. He had a stormy parliamentary 
experience, was made supervisor of the Drury Lane Theater, and George I knighted him for 
energetic championship of the Hanoverian succession. 

His prosperity was brief, however. Through his opposition to the Peerage Bill (1719), he 
lost the support of his party and received some sore knocks from his old friend. He was 
frequently in money difficulties, and finally, broken in health as well as fortune, he took refuge 
in Wales, not as Swift venomously rimed, ' from perils of a hundred gaols,' but from the 
expenses of a London establishment, so that his debts might be paid before his death. Steele's 
Irish imprudences are sometimes exaggerated for the sake of contrasting him with Addison. 
He was not, in practice, above the fashionable vices of his times, and he was sinfully reckless 
in money matters. He was, nevertheless, a sincere champion of virtue and lover of piety; 
he was chivalrous toward women, generous and forgiving toward his friends, and intrepid 
where his political conscience was involved. The uncalculating prodigality and sweetness of his 
nature are reflected in his pages, and have made many besides Thackeray * own to liking Dick 
Steele the man, and Dick Steele the author, much better than much better men and much 
better authors.' 



From THE TATLER public-spirited as to neglect their own 

affairs to look into transactions of state. 

[No. I.] Now these gentlemen, for the most part, 

THE ADVERTISEMENT !^^^"? persons of strong zeal and weak 

5 mtellects, it is both a charitable and 
Though the other papers which are necessary work to offer something 
published for the use of the good people whereby such worthy and well-affected 
of England have certainly very whole- members of the commonwealth may be 
some effects and are laudable in their instructed, after their reading, what to 
particular kinds, they do not seem to lo think; which shall be the end and pur- 
come up to the main design of such pose of this my paper, wherein I shall 
narrations, which, I humbly presume, from time to time report and consider 
should be principally intended for the all matters of what kind soever that shall 
use of politic persons, who are so occur to me, and publish such my advices 

324 



A RECOLLECTION 325 



and reflections every Tuesday, Thursday casting a figure, tell you all that will hap- 
and Saturday in the week, for the con- pen before it comes to pass. 
venience of the post. I resolve also to But this last faculty I shall use very 

have something which may be of enter- sparingly, and speak but of few things 
tainment to the fair sex, in honor of 5. until they are passed, for fear of divulg- 
whom I have invented the title of this ing matters which may offend our supe- 
paper. I therefore earnestly desire all riors. Tuesday, April 12, 1709. 

persons, without distinction, to take it in * * * 

for the present gratis, and hereafter at 
the price of one penny, forbidding all 10 r-vr o -i 
hawkers to take more for it at their peril. l-^°" ^°^-l 

And I desire all persons to consider that \ RECOLLECTION 

I am at a very great charge for proper 

materials for this work, as well as that. The first sense of sorrow I ever knew 

before I resolved upon it, I had settled 15 was upon the death of my father, at 
a correspondence in all patts of the which time I was not quite five years of 
known and knowing world. And foras- age; but was rather amazed at what all 
much as this globe is not trodden upon the house meant than possessed with a 
by mere drudges of business only, but real understanding why nobody was will- 
that men of spirit and genius are justly 20 ing to play with me. I remember I went 
to be esteemed as considerable agents in into the room where his body lay, and my 
'it, we shall not upon a dearth of news mother sat weeping alone by it. I had 
present you with musty foreign edicts, or my battledore in my hand, and fell a-beat- 
dull proclamations, but shall divide our ing the coffin, and calling ' Papa ' ; for I 
relation of the passages which occur in 25 know not how, I had some slight idea 
action or discourse throughout this town, that he was locked up there. My mother 
as well as elsewhere, under such dates of catched me in her arms, and transported 
places as may prepare you for the matter beyond all patience of the silent grief she 
you are to expect, in the following man- was before in, she almost smothered me 
ner: 3° in her embrace, and told me in a flood of 

All accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and tears, ' Papa could not hear me, and 
entertainment shall be under the article would play with me no more, for they 
of White's Chocolate-house; poetry, under were going to put. him under ground, 
that of Will's Coffee-house ; learning, whence he could never come to us again/ 
under the title of Grecian; foreign and 35 She was a very beautiful woman, of a 
domestic news, you will have from Saint noble spirit, and there was a dignity in 
James's Coffee-house; and what else I her grief amidst all the wildness of her 
have to offer on any other subject shall be transport, which, methought struck me 
dated from my own apartment. with an instinct of sorrow which, before 

_ I once more desire my reader to con- 40 1 was sensible of what it was to grieve, 
sider that, as I cannot keep an ingenious seized my very soul, and has made pity 
man to go daily to Wills under twopence the weakness of my heart ever since, 
each day, merely for his charges; to The mind in infancy is, methinks, like the 
White's under sixpence ; nor to the body in embryo, and receives impressions 
Grecian, without allowing him some plain 45 so forcible that they are as hard to be 
Spanish, to be as able as others at the removed by reason, as any mark with 
learned table ; and that a good observer which a child is born is to be taken away 
cannot speak with even kidney at Saint by any future application. Hence it is 
James's without clean linen; I say, these that good-nature in me is no merit; but, 
considerations will, I hope, make all per- 5° having been so frequently overwhelmed 
sons willing to comply with my humble with her tears before I knew the cause of 
request (when my gratis stock is ex- any affliction, or could draw defenses 
hausted) of a penny a piece; especially from my own judgment, I imbibed com- 
since they are sure of some proper amuse- miseration, remorse, and an unmanly 
ment, and that it is impossible for me to 55 gentleness of mind, which has since in- 
want means to entertain them, having, snared me into ten thousand calamities, 
besides the force of my own parts, the and from whence I can reap no advantage, 
power of divination, and that I can, by except it be that, in such a humor as I am 



326 SIR RICHARD STEELE 



now in, I can the better indulge myself beloved than esteemed. His tenants 
in the softnesses or humanity, and enjoy grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all 
that sweet anxiety which arises from the the young women profess love to him, 
memory of past afflictions. and the young men are glad of his com- 

June 5, 1710. spany; when he comes into a house, he 
calls the servants by their names, and 
talks all the way up stairs to a visit. I 
From THE SPECTATOR must not omit, that Sir Roger is a jus- 

tice of the quorum; that he fills the chair 
[No. 2.] ,0 at a quarter-sessions with great abilities, 

T-fTp ni TJT3 and three months ago, gained universal 

applause, by explaining a passage in the 
The first of our society is a gentleman game-act. 
of Worcestershire, of ancient descent, a The gentleman next in esteem and 

baronet, his name is Sir Roger de 15 authority among us, is another bachelor, 
Coverley. His great grandfather was in- who is a member of the Inner Temple; 
ventor of that famous country-dance a man of great probity, wit, and under- 
which is called after him. All who know standing; but he has chosen his place of 
that shire are very well acquainted with residence rather to obey the direction of 
the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He 20 an old humorsome father, than in pursuit 
is a gentleman that is very singular in of his own inclinations. He was placed 
his behavior, but his singularities proceed there to study the laws of the land, and 
from his good sense, and are contradic- is the most learned of any of the house 
tions to the manners of the world, only in those of the stage. Aristotle and 
as he thinks the world is in the wrong. 25 Longinus are much better understood by 
However, this humor creates him no him than Littleton or Coke. The father 
enemies, for he does nothing with sour- sends up every post questions relating to 
ness or obstinacy; and his being uncon- marriage articles, leases and tenures, in 
fined to modes and forms, makes him but the neighborhood; all which questions he 
the readier and more capable to please 3° agrees with an attorney to answer and 
and oblige all who know him. When he take care of in the lump. He is studying 
is in town, he lives in Soho Square. It the passions themselves, when he should 
is said, he keeps himself a bachelor, by be inquiring into the debates among men 
reason he was crossed in love by a per- which arise from them. He knows the 
verse beautiful widow of the next county 35 argument of each of the orations of 
to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Demosthenes and TuUy; but not one case 
Roger was what you call a fine gentle- in the reports of our own courts. No 
man, had often supped with my Lord one ever took him for a fool, but none, 
Rochester and Sir George Etherege, except his intimate friends, know he has 
fought a duel upon his first coming to 40 a great deal of wit. This turn makes 
town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a him at once both disinterested and agree- 
public coffee house for calling him young- able ; as few of his thoughts are drawn 
ster. But, being ill used by the above from business, they are most of them fit 
mentioned widow, he was very serious for conversation. His taste of books is 
for a year and a half; and though, his 45 a little too just for the age he lives in; 
temper being naturally jovial, he at last he has read all, but approves of very 
got Over it, he grew careless of himself, few. His familiarity with the customs, 
and never dressed afterwards. He con- manners, actions, and writings of the 
tinues to wear a coat and doublet of the ancients, makes him a very delicate ob- 
same cut • that were in fashion at the 50 server of what occurs to him in the pres- 
time of his repulse, which, in his merry ent world. He is an excellent critic, and 
humors, he tells us, has been in and out the time of the play is his hour of busi- 
twelve times since he first wore it. He ness; exactly at five he passes through 
is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, New Inn, crosses through Russell court, 
gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both 55 and takes a turn at Will's, till the play 
in town and country; a great lover of begins; he has his shoes rubbed, and his 
mankind: but there is such a mirthful periwig powdered at the barber's as you 
cast in his behavior, that he is rather go into the Rose. It is for the good of 



THE CLUB 327 

the audience when he is at a play; for merit is placed in so conspicuous a view, 
the actors have an ambition to please impudence should get the better of mod- 
him. esty. When he has talked to this pur- 

The person of next consideration is Sir pose, I never heard him make a sour 
Andrew Freeport, a merchant of great 5 expression, but frankly confess that he 
eminence in the city of London. A left the world, because he was not fit for 
person of indefatigable industry, strong it. A strict honesty and an even regular 
reason, and great experience. His no- behavior are in themselves obstacles to 
tions of trade are noble and generous, him that must press through crowds who 
and (as every rich man has usually some 10 endeavor at the same end with himself, 
sly way of jesting, which would make no the favor of a commander. He will, 
great figure were he not a rich man) he however, in his way of talk, excuse gen- 
calls the sea the British Common. He erals for not disposing according to men's 
is acquainted with commerce in all its desert, or inquiring into it: for, says he, 
parts, and will tell you that it is a stupid 15 that great man who has a mind to help 
and barbarous way to extend dominion me, has as many to break through to 
by arms, for true power is to be got by come at me, as I have to come at him: 
arts and industry. He will often argue, therefore, he will conclude, that the man 
that if this part of our trade were well who would make a figure, especially in a 
cultivated, we should gain from one na- 20 military way, must get over all false 
tion, — and if another, from another. I modesty, and assist his patron against 
have heard him prove, that diligence the importunity of other pretenders, by 
makes more lasting acquisitions than a proper assurance in his own vindica- 
valor, and that sloth has ruined more tion. He says, it is a civil cowardice to 
nations than the sword. He abounds in 2s be backward in asserting what you ought 
several frugal maxims, amongst which to expect, as it is a military fear to be 
the greatest favoi-ite is, ' A penny saved slow in attacking when it is your duty, 
is a penny got.' A general trader of With this candor does the gentleman 
good sense is pleasanter company than speak of himself and others. The same 
a general scholar ; and Sir Andrew hav- 3o frankness runs through all his conversa- 
ing a natural unaffected eloquence, the tion. The military part of his life has 
perspicuity of his discourse gives the furnished him with many adventures, in 
same pleasure that wit would in another the relation of which he is very agree- 
man. He has made his fortunes himself; able to the company; for he is never 
and says that England may be richer 35 over-bearing, though accustomed to com- 
than other kingdoms, by as plain methods mand men in the utmost degree below 
as he himself is richer than other men ; him ; nor ever too obsequious, from an 
though at the same time I can say this of habit of obeying men highly above him. 
him, that there is not a point in the com- But, that our society may not appear 

pass but blows home a ship in which he 4° a set of humorists, unacquainted with the 
is an owner. gallantries and pleasures of the age, we 

Next to Sir Andrew in the club-room have among us the gallant Will Honey- 
sits Captain Sentry, a gentleman of great comb, a gentleman who, according to his 
courage, good understanding, but in- years, should be in the decline of his 
vincible modesty. He is one of those 4S life, but, having ever been very careful 
that deserve very well, but are very of his person, and always had a very easy 
awkward at putting their talents within fortune, time has made but a very little 
the observation of svich as should take impression, either by wrinkles on his 
notice of them. He was some years a forehead, or traces on his brain. His 
captain, and behaved himself with great 5° person is well turned, of a good height, 
gallantry in several engagements and at He is very ready at that sort of discourse 
several sieges ; but having a small estate with which men usually entertain women. 
of his own, and being next heir to Sir He has all his life dressed very well, and 
Roger, he has quitted a way of life, in remembers habits as others do men. He 
which no man can rise suitably to his 55 can smile when one speaks to him, and 
merit, who is not something of a courtier laughs easily. He knows the history of 
as well as a soldier. I have heard him every mode, and can inform you from 
often lament, that in a profession where what Frenchwomen our wives and daugh- 



328 SIR RICHARD STEELE 



ters had this manner of curling their [No. 6.] 
hair, that way of placing their hoods; 

and whose vanity to shew her foot made SIR ROGER ON MEN OF PARTS 
that part of the dress so short in such a 

year. In a word, all his conversation S I know no evil under the sun so great 
and knowledge have been in the female as the abuse of the understanding, and 
world; as other men of his age will take yet there is no one vice more common, 
notice to you what such a minister said It has diffused itself through both sexes, 
upon such and such an occasion, he will and all qualities of mankind; and there 
tell you, when the Duke of Monmouth lo is hardly that person to be found, who is 
danced at court, such a woman was then not more concerned for the reputation of 
smitten, another was taken with him at wit and sense, than honesty and virtue, 
the head of his troop in the Park. For But this unhappy affectation of being 
all these important relations, he has ever wise rather than honest, witty than good- 
about the same time received a kind 15 natured, is the source of most of the ill 
glance or a blow of a fan from some habits of life. Such false impressions 
celebrated beauty, mother of the present are owing to the abandoned writings of 
lord such-a-one. men of wit, and the awkward imitation 

This way of talking of his very much of the rest of mankind, 
enlivens the conversation, among us of 20 For this reason. Sir Roger was saying 
a more sedate turn; and I find there is last night, that he was of opinion that 
not one of the company, but myself, who none but men of fine parts deserve to be 
rarely speak at all, but speaks of him as hanged. The reflections of such men are 
of that sort of man who is usually called so delicate upon all occurrences which 
a well-bred fine gentleman. To conclude 25 they are concerned in, that they should 
his character, where women are not con- be exposed to more than ordinary in- 
cerned, he is an honest worthy man. famy and punishment, for offending 

I cannot tell whether I am to account against such quick admonitions as their 
him whom I am next to speak of, as one of own souls give them, and blunting the 
our company ; for he visits us but seldom, 3° fine edge of their minds in such a man- 
but when he does, it adds to every man ner, that they are no more shocked at 
else a new enjoyment of himself. He is vice and folly, than men of slower ca- 
a clergyman, a very philosophic man, of pacities. There is no greater monster in 
general learning, great sanctity of life, being, than a very ill man of great parts, 
and the most exact good breeding. He 35 He lives like a man in a palsy, with one 
has the misfortune to be of a very weak side of him dead. While perhaps he en- 
constitution; and consequently cannot joys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, 
accept of such cares and business as pre- of ambition, he has lost the taste of good 
ferments in his function would oblige will, of friendship, of innocence. Scare- 
him to; he is therefore among divines 40 crow, the beggar in Lincoln's-inn-fields, 
what a chamber-councillor is among who disabled himself in his right leg, and 
lawyers. The probity of his mind, and asks alms all day to get himself a warm 
the integrity of his life, create him fol- supper at night, is not half so despicable 
lowers, as being eloquent or loud ad- a wretch, as such a man of sense. The 
vances others. He seldom introduces the 45 beggar has no relish above sensations ; 
subject he speaks upon; but we are so he finds rest more agreeable than mo- 
far gone in years that he observes, when tion ; and while he has a warm fire, never 
he is among us, an earnestness to have reflects that he deserves to be whipped, 
him fall on some divine topic, which he Every man who terminates his satisfac- 
always treats with much authority, as 50 tions and enjoyments within the supply 
one who has no interest in this world, as of his own necessities and passions is, 
one who is hastening to the object of all says Sir Roger, in my eye as poor a rogue 
his wishes, and conceives hope from his as Scarecrow. ' But,' continued he, ' for 
decays and infirmities. These are my the loss of public and private virtue we 
ordinary companions. 55 are beholden to your men of fine parts 

Friday, March 2, 1710-11. forsooth; it is with them no matter what 

is done, so it be done with an air. But 
to me who am so whimsical in a corrupt 



SIR ROGER ON MEN OF PARTS 329 

age as to act according to nature and man who appears in public, and -whoever 
reason, a selfish man in the most shining does not proceed upon that foundation, 
circumstance and equipage, appears in injures his country as fast as he succeeds 
the same condition with the fellow above in his studies. When modesty ceases to 
mentioned, but more contemptible in pro- 5 be the chief ornament of one sex, and 
portion to what more he robs the public integrity of the other, society is upon a 
of and enjoys above him. I lay it down wrong basis, and we shall be ever after 
therefore for a rule, that the whole man without rules to guide our judgment in 
is to move together; that every action what is really becoming and ornamental, 
of any importance, is to have a prospect 10 Nature and reason direct one thing, pas- 
of public good: and that the general sion and humor another. To follow the 
tendency of our indifferent actions ought dictates of these two latter, is going into 
to be agreeable to the dictates of rea- a road that is both endless and intricate; 
son, of religion, of good breeding; with- when we pursue the other, our passage is 
out this, a rnan, as I have before hinted, 15 delightful, and what we aim at easily 
is hopping instead of walking, he is not attainable. 

in his entire and proper motion.' I do not doubt but England is at pres- 

While the honest knight was thus be- ent as polite a nation as any in the world ; 
wildering himself in good starts, I looked but any man who thinks can easily see, 
intentively upon him, which made him, 20 that the affectation of being gay and in 
I thought, collect his mind a little, fashion, has very near eaten up our good 
' What I aim at,' says he, ' is, to repre- sense and our religion. Is there anything 
sent, that I am of opinion, to polish our so just as that mode and gallantry should 
understandings and neglect our manners be built upon exerting ourselves in what 
is of all things the most inexcusable. 25 is proper and agreeable to the institu- 
Reason should govern passion, but in- tions of justice and piety among us? 
stead of that, you see, it is often sub- And yet is there anything more common, 
servient to it; and, as unaccountable as than that we run in perfect contradic- 
one would think it, a wise man is not tion to them? All which is supported by 
always a good man.' This degeneracy 30 no other pretension, than that it is done 
is not only the guilt of particular persons, with what we call a good grace, 
but also at some times of a whole people; Nothing ought to be held laudable or 

and perhaps it may appear upon examina- becoming, but what nature itself should 
tion, that the most polite ages are the prompt us to think so. Respect to all 
least virtuous. This may be attributed 35 kinds of superiors is founded, methinks, 
to the folly of admitting wit and learn- upon instinct; and yet what is so ridicu- 
ing as merit in themselves, without con- lous as age? I make this abrupt transi- 
sidering the application of them. By tion to the mention of this vice, more 
this means it becomes a rule, not so much than any other, in order to introduce a 
to regard what we do, as how we do it. 40 little story, which I think a pretty in- 
But this false beauty will not pass upon stance that the most polite age is in 
men of honest minds and true taste. Sir danger of being the most vicious. 
Richard Blackmore says, with as much * It happened at Athens, during a public 

good sense as virtue, ' It is a mighty dis- representation of some play exhibited in 
honor and shame to employ excellent 45 honor of the commonwealth, that an old 
faculties and abundance of wit, to gentleman came too late for a place 
humor and please men in their vices and suitable to his age and quality. Many 
follies. The great enemy of mankind, of the young gentlemen, who observed 
notwithstanding his wit and angelic the difficulty and confusion he was in, 
faculties, is the most odious being in the 50 made signs to him that they would ac- 
whole creation.' He goes on soon after commodate him if he came where they 
to say, very generously, that he under- sat. The good man bustled through the 
took the writing of his poem ' to rescue crowd accordingly ; but when he came to 
the Muses out of the hands of ravishers, the seats to which he was invited, the 
to restore them to their sweet and chaste 55 jest was to sit close and expose him, as 
mansions, and to engage them in an em- he stood out of countenance, to the whole 
ployment suitable to their dignity.' This audience. The frolic went round all the 
certainly ought to be the purpose of every Athenian benches. But on those occa- 



330 SIR RICHARD STEELE 

sions there were also particular places great circumstance in his life, with an air 
assigned for foreigners. When the good which I thought raised my idea of him 
man skulked towards the boxes appointed above what I had ever had before ; and 
for the Lacedaemonians, that honest gave me the picture of that cheerful 
people, more virtuous than polite, rose 5 mind of his, before it received that 
up all to a man, and with the greatest stroke which has ever since affected his 
respect received him among them. The words and actions. But he went on as 
Athenians being suddenly touched with follows: — 

a sense of the Spartan virtue and their ' I came to my estate in my twenty- 

own degeneracy, gave a thunder of ap- lo second year, and resolved to follow the 
plause ; and the old man cried out, " The steps of the most worthy of my ancestors 
Athenians understand what js good, but who have inhabited this spot of earth 
the Lacedaemonians practise it." before me, in all the methods of hos- 

Wednesday, March 17, 1710-II. pitality and good neighborhood, for the 

15 sake of my fame ; and in country sports 

and recreations, for the sake of my 

[No. 113.] health. In my twenty-third year I was 

SIR ROGER IN LOVE obliged to serve as sheriff of the county; 

and in my servants, officers, and whole 
In my first description of the com- 20 equipage, indulged the pleasure of a. 
pany in which I pass most of my time, young man (who did not think ill of 
it may be remembered, that I mentioned his own person) in taking that public 
a great affliction which my friend Sir occasion of showing my figure and be- 
Roger had met with in his youth ; which havior to advantage. You may easily 
was no less than a disappointment in 2s imagine to yourself what appearance I 
love. It happened this evening, that we made, who am pretty tall, ride well, and 
fell into a very pleasing walk at a dis- was very well dressed, at the head of a 
tance from his house. As soon as we whole county, with music before me, a 
came into it, ' It is,' quoth the good old feather in my hat, and my horse well 
man, looking round him with a smile, 3° bitted. I can assure you I was not a 
' very hard, that any part of my land little pleased with the kind looks and 
should be settled upon one who has used glances I had from all the balconies and 
me so ill as the perverse widow did; windows as I rode to the hall where the 
and yet I am sure I could not see a sprig assizes were held. But, when I came 
of any bough of this whole walk of trees, 35 there, a beautiful creature in a widow's 
but I should reflect upon her and her habit sat in a court to hear the event of 
severity. She has certainly the finest a cause concerning her dower. This 
hand of any woman in the world. You commanding creature (who was born for 
are to know, this was the place wherein the destruction of all who behold her) 
I used to muse upon her ; and by that 40 put on such a resignation in her counte- 
custom I can never come into it, but the nance, and bore the whispers of all 
same tender sentiments revive in my around the court with such a pretty un- 
mind, as if I had actually walked with easiness, I warrant you, and then re- 
that beautiful creature under these covered herself from one eye to another, 
shades. I have been fool enough to 41 until she was perfectly confused by 
carve her name on the bark of several meeting something so wistful in all she 
of these trees; so unhappy is the condi- encountered, that at last, with a murrain 
tion of men in love, to attempt the re- to her, she cast her bewitching eye upon 
moving of their passion by the methods me. I no sooner met it but I bowed like 
which serve only to imprint it deeper. ^50 a great surprised booby; and knowing 
She has certainly the finest hand of any' her cause to be the first wjiich came on, 
woman in the world.' I cried, like a captivated calf as I was. 

Here followed a profound silence ; and " Make way for the defendant's wit- 
I was not displeased to observe my friend nesses." This sudden partiality made all 
falling so naturally into a discourse 5S the county immediately see the sheriff 
which I had ever before taken notice he also was become a slave to the fim 
industriously avoided. After a very long widow. During the time her cause wai 
pause, he entered upon an account of this upon trial, she behaved herself, I war- 



SIR ROGER IN LOVE 331 



rant you, with such a deep attention to arid the skill of beauty, she will arm her- 
her business, took opportunities to have self with her real charms, and strike 
little billets handed to her counsel, then you with admiration instead of desire, 
would be in such a pretty confusion, It is certain that if you were to behold 
occasioned, you must know, by acting be- 5 the whole woman, there is that dignity 
fore so much company, that not only I in her aspect, that composure in her 
but the whole court was prejudiced in motion, that complacency in her manner, 
her favor; and all that the next heir to that if her form makes you hope, her 
her husband had to urge was thought merit makes you fear. But then again, 
so groundless and frivolous, that when 10 she is such a desperate scholar that no 
it came to her counsel to reply, there country gentleman can 'approach her 
was not half so much said as every one without being a jest. As I was going 
besides in the court thought he could to tell you, when I came to her house, 
have urged to her advantage. You I was admitted to her presence with great 
must understand, sir, this perverse incivility; at the same time she placed her- 
woman is one of those unaccountable self to be first seen by me in such an 
creatures that secretly rejoice in the attitude, as I think you call the posture 
admiration of men, but indulge them- of a picture, that she discovered new 
selves in no farther consequences, charms, and I at last came towards her 
Hence it is that she has ever had a train 20 with such an awe as made me speechless. 
of admirers, and she removes from her This she no sooner observed but she made 
slaves in town to those in the country, her advantage of it, and began a dis- 
according to the seasons of the year, course to me concerning love and honor, 
She is a reading lady, and far gone in as they both are followed by pretenders, 
the pleasures of friendship. She is al- 25 and the real votaries to them. When she 
ways accompanied by a confidante, who discussed these points in a discourse 
is witness to hev daily protestations which, I verily believe, was as learned 
against our sex, and consequently a bar as the best philosopher in Europe could 
to her first steps towards love, upon the possibly make, she asked me whether 
strength of her own maxims and declara- 3° she was so happy as to fall in with my' 
tions. sentiments on these important particu- 

' However, I must needs say, this ac- lars. Her confidante sat by her, and on 
complished mistress of mine has dis- my being in the last confusion and 
tinguished me above the rest, and has silence, this malicious aid of hers turning 
been known to declare Sir Roger de 35 to her, says, " I am very glad to observe 
Coverley was the tamest and most humane Sir Roger pauses upon this subject, and 
of all the brutes in the country. I was seems resolved to deliver all his senti- 
told she said so by one who thought he ments upon the matter when he pleases 
rallied me; and upon the strength of this to speak." They both kept their counte- 
slender encouragement of being thought 40 nances, and after I had sat half an hour 
least detestable, I made new liveries, meditating how to behave before such 
new-paired my coach-horses, sent them profound casuists, I rose up and took my 
all to town to be bitted, and taught to leave. Chance has since that time 
throw their legs well, and move all to- thrown me very often in her way, and 
gether, before I pretended to cross the 45 she as often directed a discourse to me 
country, and wait upon her. As soon which I do not understand. This bar- 
as I thought my retinue suitable to the barity has kept me ever at a distance 
character of my fortune and youth, I set from the most beautiful object my eyes 
out from hence to make my addresses, ever beheld. It is thus also she deals 
The particular skill of this lady has 50 with all mankind, and you must make love 
ever been to inflame your wishes, and to her as you would conquer the sphinx, 
yet command respect. To make her mis- by posing her. But were she like other 
tress of this art, she has a greater share women, and that there were any talking 
of knowledge, wit, and good sense than to her, how constant must the pleasure 
is usual even among men of merit. 5s of that man be, who could converse with 
Then she is beautiful beyond the race a creature — But, after all, you may be 
of women. If you will not let her go sure her heart is fixed on some one or 
on with a certain artifice with her eyes, other: and yet I have been credibly in- 



332 SIR RICHARD STEELE 

formed — but who can believe half that next four-and-twenty hours, till the 
is said! — They say she sings excellently; many different objects I must needs meet 
her voice in her ordinary speech has with should tire my imagination, and 
something in it inexpressibly sweet, give me an inclination to a repose more 
You must know I dined with her 5 profound than I was at that time ca- 
at a public table the day after I first saw pable of. I beg people's pardon for an 
her, and she helped me to some tansy in odd humor I am guilty of, and was often 
the eye of all the gentlemen in the coun- that day, which is saluting any person 
try. She has certainly the finest hand of whom I like, whether I know him or not. 
any woman in, the world. I can assure lo This is a particularity would be tolerated 
you, sir, were you to behold her, you in me, if they considered that the great- 
would be in the same condition ; for as est pleasure I know I receive at my eyes, 
her speech is music, her form is angelic, and that I am obliged to an agreeable 
But I find I grow irregular while I am person for coming abroad into my view, 
talking of her ; but indeed it would be 15 as another is for a visit of conversation 
stupidity to be unconcerned at such per- at their own houses, 
fection. Oh, the excellent creature! she The hours of the day and night are 
is as inimitable to all women, as she is taken up in the cities of London and 
inaccessible to all men.' Westminster by people as different from 

I found my friend begin to rave, and 20 each other as those who are born m 

insensibly led him towards the house, different centuries. Men of six o'clock 

that we might be joined by some other give way to those of nme, they of nme 

company; and am convinced that the to the generation of twelve; and they of 

widow is the secret cause of all that in- twelve disappear, and make room for the 

consistency which appears in some parts ^5 fashionable world, who have made two 

of my friend's discourse; though he has o'clock the noon of the day. 

so much command of himself as not When we first put off from shore, we 

directly to mention her, yet according to soon fell in with a fleet of gardeners, 

that of Martial, which one knows not how bound for the several market ports of 

to render into English, dmn facet hanc 3o London ; and it was the most pleasing 

loquitur [even when silent he talks of scene imaginable to see the cheerfulness 

j^ei-l with which those industrious people plied 

Tuesday, July 10, 1711. their way to a certain sale of their goods. 

^ ^ J The banks on each side are as well peo- 

35 pled, and beautified with as agreeable 

plantations, as any spot on the earth; 

[No. 454.] but the Thames itself, loaded with the 

A DAY TN T ONDON product of each shore, added very much 

to the landscape. It was very easy to 

It is an expressible pleasure to know 40 observe by their sailing and the counte- 
a little of the world, and to be of no nances of the ruddy virgins who were 
character or significancy in it. supercargoes, the parts of the town to 

To be ever unconcerned, and ever look- which they were bound. There was an 
ing on new objects with an endless curi- air in the purveyors for Covent Garden, 
osity, is a delight known only to those 45 who frequently converse with morning 
who are "turned for speculation: nay, rakes, very unlike the seeming sobriety 
they who enjoy it must value things only of those bound for Stocks Market, 
as they are the objects of speculation, Nothing remarkable happened in our 

without drawing any worldly advantage voyage; but I landed with ten sail of 
to themselves from them, but just as they 50 apricot-boats, at Strand Bridge, after 
are what contribvite to their amusement, having put in at Nine Elms, and taken 
or the improvement of the mind. I lay in melons, consigned by Mr. Cuffe, of 
one night last week at Richmond; and that place, to Sarah Sewell and Company, 
being restless, not out of dissatisfaction, at their stall in Covent Garden. We 
but a certain busy inclination one some- 55 arrived at Strand Bridge at six of the 
times has, I rose at four in the morning, clock, and were unloading, when the 
and took boat for London, with a resolu- hackney-coachmen of the foregoing night 
tion to rove by boat and coach for the took their leave of each other at the 



A DAY IN LONDON 333 



Darkhouse, to go to bed before the day laced shoe on her left foot, with a care- 
was too far spent. Chimney-sweepers less gesture, just appearing on the 
passed by us as we made up to the market, opposite cushion, held her both firm and 
and some raillery happened between one in a proper attitude to receive the next 
of the fruit-wenches and those black 5 jolt. 

men about the Devil and Eve, with al- As she was an excellent coach-woman, 

lusion to their several professions. I many were the glances at each other 
could not believe any place more enter- which we had for an hour and a half in 
taining than Covent Garden, where I all parts of the town, by the skill of our 
strolled from one fruit-shop to another, 10 drivers, till at last my lady was conven- 
with crowds of agreeable young women, iently lost, with notice from her coach- 
around me, who were purchasing fruit man to ours to make off, and he should 
for their respective families. It was hear where she went. This chase was 
almost eight of the clock before I could now at an end, and the fellow who drove 
leave that variety of objects. I took 15 her came to us, and discovered that he 
soach and followed a young lady, who was ordered to come again in an hour, 
'iripped into another just before me, at- for that she was a silk-worm. I was 
tended by her maid. I saw immediately surprised with this phrase, but found it 
she was of the family of the Vainloves. was a cant among the hackney fraternity 
There are a set of these, who, of all 20 for their best customers, women who 
things, affect the play of blindman's- ramble twice or thrice a week from shop 
buff, and leading men into love for they to shop, to turn over all the goods -in 
know not whom, v/ho are fled they know town without buying anything. The 
not where. This sort of woman is usu- silk-worms are, it seems, indulged by the 
ally a jaunty slattern; she hangs on her 25 tradesmen; for, though they never buy, 
clothes, plays her head, varies her pos- they are ever talking of new silks, laces, 
ture, and changes place incessantly, and and ribbons, and serve the owners in 
all with an appearance of striving at the getting them customers, as their common 
same time to hide herself, and yet give dunners do in making them pay. 
you to understand she is in humor to 3° The day of people of fashiron began 
laugh at you. You must have often seen now to break, and carts and hacks were 
the coachmen make signs with their fin- mingled with equipages of show and 
gers, as they drive by each other, to in- vanity, when I resolved to walk it, out 
timate how much they have got that day. of cheapness; but my unhappy curiosity 
They can carry on that language to give 35 is such, that I find it always my interest 
intelligence where they are driving. In to take a coach, for some odd adventure 
an instant my coachman took the wink to among beggars, ballad-singers, or the 
pursue, and the lady's driver gave the like, detains and throws me into expense, 
hint that he was going through Longacre It happened so immediately, for at the 
toward St. James's ; while he whipped up 40 corner of Warwick Street, as I was lis- 
James Street, we drove for King Street, tening to a new ballad, a ragged rascal, 
to save the pass at St. Martin's Lane, a beggar who knew me, came up to me. 
The coachmen took care to meet, jostle, and began to turn the eyes of the good 
and threaten each other for way, and company upon me, by telling me he was 
be entangled at the end of Newport 45 extreme poor, and should die in the street 
Street and Longacre. The fright, you for want of drink, except I immediately 
musi believe, brought down the lady's would have the charity to give him six- 
coach-door, and obliged her, with her pence to go into the next ale-house and 
mask off, to inquire into the bustle, — save his life. He urged with a melan- 
when she sees the man she would avoid. 5° choly face, that all his family had Jied 
The tackle of the coach-window is so of thirst. All the mob have humor, and 
bad she cannot draw it up again, and two or three began to take the jest; by 
she drives on, sometimes wholly dis- which Mr. Sturdy carried his point, and 
covered, and sometimes half escaped, ac- let me sneak off to a coach. As I drove 
cording to the accident of carriages in 55 along, it was a pleasing reflection to see 
her way. One of these ladies keeps her the world so prettily checkered since I 
seat in a hackney-coach as well as the left Richmond, and the scene still filling 
best rider does on a managed horse. The with children of a new hour. This satis-> 



334 SIR RICHARD STEELE 

faction increased as I moved towards the I went afterward to Robin's, and saw 

city; and gay signs, well-disposed streets, people who had dined with me at the 
magnificent public structures, and wealthy five-penny ordinary just before, give 
shops adorned with contented faces, made bills for the value of large estates; and 
the joy still rising till we (;ame into 5 could not but behold with great pleasure 
the center of the city, and center of the property lodged in and transferred in a 
world of trade, the Exchange of London, moment from, such as would never be 
As other men in the crowds about me masters of half as much as is seemingly 
were pleased with their hopes and bar- in them, and given from them, every 
gains, I found my account in observing lo day they live. But before five in the 
them, in attention to their several in- afternoon I left the city, came to my 
terests. I, indeed, looked upon myself as common scene of Covent Garden, and 
the richest man that walked the Exchange passed the evening at Will's in attending 
that day; for my benevolence made me the discourses of several sets of people, 
share the gains of every bargain that 15 who relieved each other within my hear- 
was made. It was not the least of my ing on the subjects of cards, dice, love, 
satisfaction in my survey, to go up learning, and politics. The last subject 
stairs and pass the shops of agreeable kept me till I heard the streets in the 
females; to observe so many pretty hands possession of the bellman, who had now 
busy in the folding of ribbons, and the 20 the world to himself, and cried, ' Past 
utmost eagerness of agreeable faces in two o'clock.' This roused me from my 
the sale of patches, pins, and wires, on seat; and I went to my lodgings, led by 
each side of the counters, was an amuse- a light, whom I put into the discourse 
ment in which I could longer have in- of his private economy, and made him 
dulged myself, had not the dear creatures 25 give me an account of the charge, hazard, 
called to me, to ask what I wanted, profit, and loss of a family that depended 
when I could not answer, ' Only to look upon a link, with a design to end my 
at you.' I went to one of the windows trivial day with the generosity of six- 
which opened to the area below, where pence, instead of a third part of that 
all the several voices lost their distinc- 30 sum. When I came to my chambers, I 
tion, and rose up in a confused humming, writ down these minutes, but was at a 
which created in me a reflection that loss what instruction I should propose 
could not come into the mind of any but to my reader from the enumeration of so 
of one a little too studious; for I said many insignificant matters and occur- 
to myself with a kind of pun in thought, 35 rences; and I thought it of great use, if 
* What nonsense is all the hurry of this they could learn with me to keep their 
world to those who are above it?,' In minds open to gratification, and ready 
these, or not much wiser thoughts, I had to receive it from anything it meets 
like to have lost my place at the chop- vvith. This one circumstance will make 
house, where every man, according to 40 every face you see give you the satisfac- 
the natural bashfulness or sullenness of tion you now take in beholding that of a 
our nation, eats in a public room a mess friend; will make every object a pleasing 
of broth, or chop of meat, in dumb si- one; will make all the good which arrives 
lence, as if they had no pretense to speak to any man an increase of happiness to 
to each other on the foot of being men, 45 yourself. 

except they were of each other's ac- Monday, August 11, 1712. 

quaintance. 



JOSEPH ADDISON (1672-1719) 

From a refined clerical home, Addison was sent to Charterhouse School and thence, at fifteen 
to Oxford, where he distinguished himself as a scholar and rose to a fellowship at Magdalen 
College (1697-99). By his twenty-second year, he was known as a cultivated writer of 
English and Latin verses and Dryden had welcomed him to the world of letters. While he 
was considering the church, the Whig government, desiring to enlist the service of his pen, 
granted him a pension which enabled him to spend four years in study and travel on the 
continent. Returning, in 1704, to a mean London lodging, he was directly sought out by the 
Whig leaders and commissioned to celebrate the recent victory of Marlborough at Blenheim. 
His poem, The Cainpaign, proved satisfactory, and he was rewarded with lucrative secretary- 
ships, one of which took him to Ireland, where he was eminently successful and popular. 
Meantime, he had become a leader among the coffee-house wits and had won the friendship 
of Swift. He renewed his Charterhouse intimacy with Steele, was responsible for ' many 
applauded strokes' in the latter's comedy, The Tender Hushand (1705), and contributed to 
The Tatler (1709), 42 of its 271 numbers. With Steele, he started The Spectator (1711-12) 
which appeared daily and ran to 555 numbers, of which Addison wrote 274. In The Spectator, 
Addison's genius found its aptest expression. No other periodical writing has every combined, 
in so high a degree, immediate journalistic effectiveness and permanent literary charm. This 
success was promptly followed by that of his tragedy, Cato (1713), which, though intrinsically 
undramatic, became immensely famous because of its supposed political sentiments. When 
the Whigs returned to power, he was made chief secretary for Ireland; carried on, for a 
time, a party periodical called The Freeholder; became in 1716 commissioner for trade 
and the colonies, and, in 1717, secretary of state. Ill-health and, possibly, ill-success as a 
public speaker induced him to resign his post after a few months. In the midst of new 
literary plans and an unkind political squabble with his old friend Steele, he was cut off by 
death when only forty-seven years of age. A fine elegy, by his friend Tickell, gives us a good 
idea of his impressive night burial in Westminster Abbey. 

Addison's central qualities are discretion and self-possession. He ' always prefen-ed cheer- 
fulness to mirth,' and those who look for sensational elements, whether in style or behavior, 
will find him tame. A profane person once pronounced him ' a parson in a tye-wig,' and 
another vindictively declared, ' One day or other you '11 see that man a bishop.' But the 
chiefs of a witty and sociable age owned that, after the bottle had been round and among 
friends, he was the most delightful companion alive. As a writer, he profoundly influenced 
English manners and morals by demonstrating that urbanity and good breeding might be 
associated with learning, and that virtue is not necessarily incompatible with elegance and wit. 
Of his merit as a prose stylist, no one has spoken more roundly than Dr. Johnson in his 
measured statement, that ' Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not 
coarse, and eleo'ant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of 
Addison.* 



From THE SPECTATOR standing of an author. To gratify this 

curiosity, which is so natural to a 

[No. I.J reader, I design this paper, and my next, 

THE SPECTATOR INTRODUCES ^s prefatory discourses to my following 

HIMSELF 5 writings, and shall give some account in 

them of the several persons that are en- 
I have observed that a reader seldom gaged in this work. As the chief trouble 
peruses a book with pleasure, till he of compiling, digesting, and correcting, 
knows whether the writer of it be a black will fall to my share, I must do myself 
or a fair man, of a mild or choleric dis- lo the justice to open the work with my 
position, married or a bachelor, with own history. 

other particulars of the like nature, that I was born to a small hereditary es- 

conduce very much to the right under- tate, which, according to the tradition of 

335 



336 JOSEPH ADDISON 



the village where it lies, was bounded osity raised, that having read the con- 
by the same hedges and ditches in Wil- troversies of some great men concerning 
Ham the Conqueror's time that it is at the antiquities of Egypt, I made a voyage 
present, and has been delivered down to Grand Cairo, on purpose to take the 
from father to son whole and entire, 5 measure of a pyramid ; and as soon as I 
without the loss or acquisition of a single had set myself right in that particular, 
field or meadow, during the space of six returned to my native country with great 
hundred years. There runs a story in satisfaction. 

the family, that my mother, near the time I have passed my latter years in this 

of my birth, dreamed that her son was lo city, where I am frequently seen in most 
become a judge; whether this might pro- public places, though there are not above 
ceed from a law-suit which was then half-a-dozen of my select friends that 
depending in the family, or my father's know me; of whom my next paper shall 
being a justice of the peace, I cannot de- give a more particular account. There 
termine ; for I am not so vain as to think is is no place of general resort, wherein I 
it presaged any dignity that I should ar- do not often make my appearance: sope- 
rive at in my future life, though that times I am seen thrusting my head into 
was the interpretation which the neigh- a round of politicians, at Will's, and lis- 
borhood put upon it. The gravity of my tening with great attention to the narra- 
behavior at my very first appearance in the 20 tives that are made in those little circular 
world seemed to favor my mother's audiences. Sometimes I smoke a pipe at 
dream: for as she often told me, I threw Child's, and whilst I seem attentive to 
away my rattle before I was two months nothing but the Postman, overhear the 
old, and would not make use of my coral conversation of every table in the room, 
until they had taken away the bells from 25 1 appear on Sunday nights at St. James's 
it_ coffee-house, and sometimes join the little 

As for the rest of my infancy, there committee of politics in the inner room, 
being nothing in it remarkable, I shall as one who comes there to hear and im- 
pass it over in silence. I find, that dur- prove. My face is likewise very well 
ing my nonage, I had the reputation of 30 known at the Grecian, the Cocoa-tree, 
a very sullen youth, but was always a and in the theaters both of Drury-Lane 
favorite of my schoolmaster, who used and the Hay-market. I have been taken 
to say, that my parts were solid, and for a merchant upon the exchange for 
would wear well. I had not been long above these ten years, and sometimes 
at the university, before I distinguished 35 pass for a Jew in the assembly of stock- 
myself by a most profound silence; for, jobbers at Jonathan's: in short, wher- 
during the space of eight years, except- ever I see a cluster of people, I always 
ing in the public exercises of the college, mix with them, though I never open my 
I scarce uttered the quantity of an hun- lips but in my own club, 
dred words; and indeed do not remember 40 Thus I live in the world rather as a 
that I ever spoke three sentences to- spectator of mankind, than as one of the 
gether in my whole life. Whilst I was species, by which means I have made my- 
in this learned body, I applied myself self a speculative statesman, soldier, 
with so much diligence to my studies, merchant and artisan, without ever med- 
that there are very few celebrated books, 45 dling with any practical part in life. I 
either in the learned or the modern am very well versed in the theory of a 
tongues, which I am not acquainted with, husband or a father, and can discern the 

Upon the death of my father, I was errors in the economy, business, and di- 
resolved to travel into foreign countries, version of others, better than those who 
and therefore left the university, with 50 are engaged in them; as standers-by dis- 
the character of an odd unaccountable cover blots, which are apt to escape those 
fellow, that had a great deal of learning, who are in the game. I never espoused 
if I would but shew it. An insatiable any party with violence, and am resolved 
thirst after knowledge carried me into to observe an exact neutrality between 
all the countries of Europe, in which 5S the whigs and tories, unless I shall be 
there was anything new or strange to be forced to declare myself by the hostilities 
seen; nay, to such a degree was my curi- of either side. In short, I have acted 



A COUNTRY SUNDAY 337 



in all the parts of my life as a looker-on, concerned with me in this work; for, 
which is the character I intend to pre- as I have before intimated, a plan of it 
serve in this paper. ^ is laid and concerted, as all other matters 

I have given the reader just so much of importance are, in a club. However, 
of my history and character, as to let him 5 as my friends have engaged me to stand 
see I am not altogether unqualified for in the front, those who have a mind to 
the business I have undertaken. As for correspond with me may direct their let- 
other particulars in my life and adven- ters to the Spectator, at Mr. Buckley's 
tures, I shall insert them in following in Little Britain. For I must further 
papers, as I shall see occasion. In the 10 acquaint the reader, that, though our club 
meantime, when I consider how much I meet, only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, 
have seen, read, and heard, I begin to we have appointed a committee to sit 
blame my own taciturnity; and since I every night, for the inspection of all such 
have neither time nor inclination, to com- papers as may contribute to the advance- 
municate the fulness of my heart in 15 ment of the public weal, 
speech, I am resolved to do it in writing, Thursday, March I, 1710-11. 

and to print myself out, if possible, be- 
fore I die. I have been often told by j 
my friends, that it is a pity so many L-'^O' 1 12. J 

useful discoveries which I have made 20 ^ COUNTRY SUNDAY 

should be in the possession of a silent 

man. For this reason, therefore, I shall I am always very well pleased with a 

publish a sheet-full of thoughts every country Sunday, and think, if keeping 
morning, for the benefit of my contem- holy the seventh day were only a human 
poraries : and if I can any way contribute 25 institution, it would be the best method 
to the diversion or improvement of the that could have been thought of for the 
country in which I live, I shall leave it polishing and civilizing of mankind. It 
when I am summoned out of it, with the is certain the country people would soon 
secret satisfaction of thinking that I have degenerate into a kind of savages and 
not lived in vain. 30 barbarians, were there not such frequent 

There are three very material points returns of a stated time in which the 
which I have not spoken to in this paper; whole village meet together with their 
and which, for several important rea- best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, 
aons, I must keep to myself, at least for to converse with one another upon indif- 
some time: I mean, an account of my 35 ferent subjects, hear their duties ex- 
name, my age, and my lodgings. I must plained to them, and join together ii. 
confess, I would gratify my reader in adoration of the Supreme Being. Sun- 
anything that is reasonable; but as for day clears away the rust of the whole 
these three particulars, though I am sen- week, not only as it refreshes in their 
sible they might tend very much to the 40 minds the notions of religion, but as it puts 
embellishment of my paper, I cannot yet both the sexes upon appearing in their 
come to a resolution of communicating most agreeable forms, and exerting all 
them to the pubhc. They would indeed such qualities as are apt to give them a 
draw me out of that obscurity which I figure in the eye of the village. A coun- 
have enjoyed for many years, and expose 45 try fellow distinguishes himself as much 
rne in_ public places to several salutes and in the churchyard, as a citizen does upon 
civilities, which have been always very the Change, the whole parish-politics be- 
disagreeable to me; for the greatest pain ing generally discussed in that place 
I can suffer, is the being talked to, and either after sermon or before the bell 
being stared at. It is for this reason like- 50 rings. 

wise, that I keep my complexion and My friend Sir Roger, being a good 

dress as very great secrets; though it is churchman, has beautified the inside of 
not impossible that I may make discover- his church with several texts of his own 
ies of both in the progress of the work choosing: he has likewise given a hand- 
I have undertaken. 55 some pulpit-cloth, and railed in the corn- 

After having been thus particular upon munion table at his own expense. He 
myself, I shall, in to-morrow's paper, give has often told me, that at his coming to 
an account of those gentlemen who are his estate he found his parishioners very 



338 JOSEPH ADDISON 



irregular; and that in order to make between a double row of his tenants, that 
them kneel and join in the responses, stand bowing to him on each side; and 
he gave every one of them a hassock and every now and then inquires how such 
a common-prayer book : and at the same a one's wife, or mother, or son, or father 
time employed an itinerant singing mas- 5 do, whom he does not see at church ; 
ter, who goes about the country for that which is understood as a secret reprimand 
purpose, to instruct them rightly in the to the person that is absent, 
tunes of the psalms ; upon which they now The chaplain has often told me, that 

very much value themselves, and indeed upon a catechising day, when Sir Roger 
outdo most of the country churches that lo has been pleased with a boy that answers 
I have ever heard. well, he has ordered a bible to be given 

As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole him next day for his encouragement; and 
congregation, he keeps them in very good sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of 
order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in bacon to his mother. Sir Roger has like- 
it besides himself; for if, by chance, he 15 wise added five pounds a year to the 
has been surprised into a short nap at clerk's place; and that he may encourage 
sermon, upon recovering out of it he the young fellows to make themselves 
stands up and looks about him, and if perfect in the church-service, has prom- 
he sees anybody else nodding, either ised, upon the death of the present in- 
wakes them himself, or sends his serv- 20 cumbent, who is very old, to bestow it 
ants to them. Several other of the old according to merit. 

knight's particularities break out upon The fair understanding between Sir 

these occasions : sometimes he will be Roger and his chaplain, and their mu- 
lengthening out a verse in the singing- tual concurrence in doing good, is the 
psalms, half a minute after the rest of 25 more remarkable, because the very next 
the congregation have done with it; village is famous for the differences and 
sometimes, when he is pleased with the contentions that rise between the parson 
matter of his devotion, he pronounces and the squire, who live in a perpetual 
' Amen ' three or four times to the same state of war. The parson is always 
prayer; and sometimes stands up when 3° preaching at the squire, and the squire to 
everybody else is upon their knees, to be revenged on the parson never comes 
count the congregation, or see if any of to church. The squire has made all his 
his tenants are missing. tenants atheists, and tithe-stealers ; while 

I was yesterday very much surprised the parson instructs them every Sunday 
to hear my old friend, in the midst of 35 in the dignity of his order, and insinuates 
the service, calling out to one John to them in almost every sermon that he 
Matthews to mind what he was about, is a better man than his patron. In short 
and not disturb the congregation. This matters have come to such an extremity, 
John Matthews it seems is remarkable that the squire had not said his prayers 
for being an idle fellow, and at that time 40 either in public or private this half year; 
was kicking his heels for his diversion, and that the parson threatens him, if he 
This authority of the knight, though ex- does not mend his manners, to pray for 
erted in that odd manner which accom- him in the face of the whole congregation, 
panies him in all circumstances of life, Feuds of this nature, though too fre- 

has a very good effect upon the parish, 45 quent in the country, are very fatal to 
iwho are not polite enough to see any the ordinary people ; who are so used to 
thing ridiculous in his behavior; besides be dazzled with riches, that they pay as 
that the general good sense and worthi- much deference to the understanding of 
ness of his character makes his friends a man of an estate, as of a man of learn- 
observe these little singularities as foils 50 ing: and are very hardly brought to re- 
that rather set off than blemish his good gard any truth, how important soever 
qualities. it may be, that is preached to them, when 

As soon as the sermon is finished, no- they know there are several men of five 
body presumes to stir till Sir Roger is hundred a year who do not believe it. 
gone out of the church. The knight 55 Monday, July 9, 171 1. 

walks down from his seat in the chancel 



SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES 339 



[No. 122.] long for a trespass in breaking one of 

his hedges, till he was forced to sell the 
SIR ROGER AT THE ASSIZES ground it enclosed to defray the charges 

of the prosecution: his father left him 

A man's first care should be to avoid 5 fourscore pounds a year; but he has cast 

the reproaches of his own heart; his next, and been cast so often, that he is not now 

to escape the censures of the world: if worth thirty. I suppose he is going upon 

the last interferes with the former, it the old business of the willow tree.' 

ought to be entirely neglected; but other- As Sir Roger was giving me this ac- 

wise there cannot be a greater satisfac- 10 count of Tom Touchy, Will Wimble and 

tion to an honest mind, than to see those his two companions stopped short till he 

approbations which it gives itself sec- came up to them. After having paid 

onded by the applauses of the public: a their respects to Sir Roger, Will told him 

man is more sure of conduct, when the that Mr. Touchy and he must appeal to 

verdict which he passes upon his own 15 him upon a dispute that arose between 

behavior is thus vv^arranted and confirmed them. Will it seems had been giving his 

by the opinion of all that know him. fellow-traveler an account of his angling 

My worthy friend Sir Roger is one of one day in such a hole; when Tom 

those who is not only at peace within Touchy, instead of hearing out his story, 

himself, but beloved and esteemed by all 20 told him that Mr. such-a-one, if he 

about him. He receives a suitable trib- pleased, might ' take the law of him ' for 

ute for his universal benevolence to man- fishing in that part of the river. My 

kind, in the returns of affection and good- friend Sir Roger heard them both upon 

will, which are paid him by every one a round trot; and after having paused 

that lives within his neighborhood. I zs some time, told them, with the air of a 

lately met with two or three odd instances man who would not give his judgment 

of that general respect which is shevvm rashly, that ' much might be said on both 

to the good old knight. He would sides.' They were neither of them dis- 

needs carry Will Wimble and myself with satisfied with the knight's determination, 

him to the county assizes : as we were 3" because neither of them found himself in 

upon the road Will Wimble joined a the wrong by it: upon which we made 

couple of plain men who rode before us, the best of our way to the assizes. 

and conversed with them for some time ; The court was set before Sir Roger 

during which my friend Sir Roger ac- came; but notwithstanding all the justices 

quainted me with their characters. 35 had taken their places upon the bench, 

' The first of them,' says he, ' that has they made room for the old knight at the 

a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman of head of them ; who, for his reputation in 

about an hundred pounds a year, an the country, took occasion to whisper in 

honest man: he is just within the game- the judge's ear, 'that he was glad his 

act, and qualified to kill an hare or a 4o lordship had met with so much good 

pheasant: he knocks down his dinner weather in his circuit.' I was listening 

with his gun twice or thrice a week : and to the proceedings of the court with much 

by that means lives much cheaper than attention, and infinitely pleased with that 

those who have not so good an estate as great appearance of solemnity which so 

himself. He would be a good neighbor 45 properly accompanies such a public ad- 

if he did not destroy so many partridges : ministration of our laws ; when, after 

in short he is a very sensible man ; shoots about an hour's sitting, I observed to my 

flying; and has been several times fore- great surprise, in the midst of a trial, that 

man of the petty jury. my friend Sir Roger was getting up to 

* That other that rides along with him 5o speak. I was in some pain for him till I 

is Tom Touchy, a fellow famous for found he had acquitted himself of two or 

" taking the law " of everybody. There is three sentences, with a look of much 

not one in the town where he lives that business and great intrepidity. 

he has not sued at a quarter-sessions. Upon his first rising the court was 

The rogue had once the impudence to go 55 hushed, and a general whisper ran among 

to law with the widow. His head is full the country people that Sir Roger ' was 

of costs, damages, and ejectments: he up.' The speech he made was so little 

plagued a couole of honest gentleman so to the purpose, that I shall not trouble 



340 JOSEPH ADDISON 



my readers with an account of it; and I ing it was made to frown and stare in 
believe was not so much designed by the a most extraordinary manner, I could 
knight himself to inform the court, as to still discover a distant resemblance of my 
give him a figure in my eye, and keep up old friend. Sir Roger, upon seeing me 
his credit in the country. 5 laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I 

I was highly delighted, when the court thought it possible for people to know 
rose, to see the gentlemen of the country him in that disg-uise. I at first kept my 
gathering about my old friend, and striv- usual silence: but upon the knight's con- 
ing who should compliment him most; at juring me to tell him whether it was not 
the same time that the ordinary people lo still more like himself than a Saracen, I 
gazed upon him at a distance, not a little composed my countenance in the best 
admiring his courage, that was not afraid manner I could, and replied ' That much 
to speak to the judge. might be said on both sides.' 

In our return home we met with a very These several adventures, with the 

odd accident; which I cannot forbear re- 15 knight's behavior in them, gave me as 
lating, because it shews how desirous all pleasant a day as ever I met with in any 
who know Sir Roger are of giving him of my travels. 

marks of their esteem. When we were Friday, July 20, 171 1. 

arrived upon the verge of his estate, we 
stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves 20 
and our horses. The man of the house L^^o- I3i-J 

had, it seems, been formerly a servant TOWN AND COUNTRY 

in the knight's family; and to do honor 

to his old master, had some time since, It is usual for a man who loves country 

unknown to Sir Roger, put him up in a 25 sports to preserve the game on his own 
sign-post before the door ; so that ' the grounds, and divert himself upon those 
Knight's Head' had hung out upon the that belong to his neighbor. My friend 
road about a week before he himself Sir Roger generally goes two or three 
knew anything of the matter. As soon miles from his house, and gets into the 
as Sir Roger was acquainted with it, 3o frontiers of his estate, before he beats 
finding that his servant's indiscretion pro- about in search of a hare or partridge, 
ceeded wholly from affection and good- on purpose to spare his own fields, where 
will, he only told him that he had made he is always sure of finding diversion 
him too high a compliment; and when the when the worst comes to the worst. By 
fellow seemed to think that could hardly be, 35 this means the breed about his house 
added with a more decisive look, that it has time to increase and multiply besides 
was too great an honor for any man un- that the sport is the more agreeable where 
der a duke; but told him at the same the game is the harder to come at, and 
time, that it might be altered with a very where it does not lie so thick as to pro- 
few touches, and that he himself would 40 duce any perplexity or confusion in the 
be at the charge of it. Accordingly, they pursuit. For these reasons the country 
got a painter by the knight's directions to gentleman, like the fox, seldom preys 
add a pair of whiskers to the face, and near his own home. 

by a little aggravation of the features In the same manner I have made a 

to change it into the Saracen's Head. 1 45 month's excursion out of town, which is 
should not have known this story, had the great field of game for sportsmen of 
not the inn-keeper, upon Sir Roger's my species, to try my fortune in the 
alighting, told him in my hearing, that country, where I have started several 
his honor's head was brought back last subjects, and hunted them down, with 
night with the alterations that he had 5o some pleasure to myself, and I hope to 
ordered to be made in it. Upon this my others. I am here forced to use a great 
friend with his usual cheerfulness related deal of diligence before I can spring any- 
the particulars above-mentioned, and thing to my mind, whereas in town, 
ordered the head to be brought into the whilst I am following one character, it 
room. I could not forbear discovering 55 is ten to one but I am crossed in my way 
greater expressions of mirth than ordi- by another, and put up such a variety 
nary upon the appearance of this mon- of odd creatures in both sexes, that they 
strous face, under which, notwithstand- foil _the scent of one another, and puzzle 



TOWN AND COUNTRY 341 



the chase. My greatest difficulty in the is more in me than he discovers, and that 
country is to find sport, and in town to I do not hold my tongue for nothing, 
choose it. In the mean time, as I have For these and other reasons I shall set 

given a v^^hole month's rest to the cities out for London to-morrow, having found 
of London and Westminster, I promise 5 by experience that the country is not a 
myself abundance of new game upon my place for a person of my temper, who 
return thither. does not love jollity, and what they call 

It is indeed high time for me to leave good neighborhood. A man that is out 
the country, since I find the whole neigh- of humor when an unexpected guest 
borhood begin to grow very inquisitive 10 breaks in upon him, and does not care 
after my name and character; my love for sacrificing an afternoon to every 
of solitude, taciturnity, and particular chance comer, — that will be the master 
way of life, having raised a great curi- of his own time, and the pursuer of his 
osity in all these parts. own inclinations, — makes but a very un- 

The notions which have been framed 15 sociable figure in this kind of life. I 
of me^ are various; some look upon me shall therefore retire into the town, if 
as very proud, some as very modest, and I may make use of that phrase, and get 
some as very melancholy. Will Wimble, into the crowd again as fast as I can, 
as my friend the butler tells me, observ- in order to be alone. I can there raise 
ing me very much alone, and extremely 20 what speculations I please upon others 
silent when I am in company, is afraid without being observed myself, and at 
I have killed a man. The country the same time enjoy all the advantages 
people seem to suspect me for a conjurer ; of company with all the privileges of 
and some of them hearing of the visit solitude. In the meanwhile, to finish the 
which I made to Moll White, will needs 25 month, and conclude these my rural 
have it that Sir Roger has brought down speculations, I shall here insert a letter 
a cunning man with him, to cure the old from my friend Will Honeycomb, who 
woman, and free the country from her has not lived a month for these forty 
charms. So that the character which I years out of the smoke of London, and 
go under in part of the neighborhood, 3° rallies me after his way upon my country 
is what they here call a ' white witch.' life. 

A justice of peace, who lives about five 
miles off, and is not of Sir Roger's party, ' Dear Spec, 

has, it seems, said twice or thrice at his * I suppose this letter will find thee 

table, that he wishes Sir Roger does not 35 picking up daisies, or smelling to a lock 
harbor a Jesuit in his house ; and that he of hay, or passing away thy time in some 
thinks the gentlemen of the country innocent country diversion of the like 
would do very well to make me give some nature. I have however orders from the 
account of myself. club to summon thee up to town, being 

On the other side, some of Sir Roger's 40 all of us cursedly afraid thou wilt not be 
friends are afraid the old knight is im- able to relish our company, after thy 
posed upon by a designing fellow, and as conversations with Moll White and Will 
they have heard that he converses very Wimble. Pr'ythee don't send up any 
promiscuously when he is in town, do not more stories of a cock and a bull, nor 
know but he has brought down with him 45 frighten the town with spirits and 
some discarded Whig, that is sullen, and witches. Thy speculations begin to smell 
says nothing because he is out of place. confoundedly of woods and meadows. 

Such is the variety of opinions which If thou dost not come up quickly, we 
are here entertained of me, so that I pass shall conclude that thou art in love with 
among some for a disaffected person, 5° one of Sir Roger's dairy-maids. Service 
and among others for a popish priest ; to the knight. Sir Andrew is grown the 
among some for a wizard, and among cock of the club since he left us, and if 
others for a murderer; and all this for no he does not return quickly, will make 
other reason, that I can imagine, but be- every mother's son of us common- 
cause I do not hoot, and hollow, and 55 wealth's men. 
make a noise. It is true, my friend Sir ' Dear Spec, 

Roger tells them that it is my way, and * Thine eternally, 

that I am only a philosopher ; but this ' WILL HONEYCOMB.' 

will not satisfy them. They think there Tuesday, July 31, 1711. 



342 JOSEPH ADDISON 



[No. 335.] John tells me he has got the fore-wheels 

mended.' 
SIR ROGER AT THE PLAY The captain, who did not fail to meet 

me there at the appointed hour, bid Sir 
My friend Sir Roger de Coverley, 5 Roger fear nothing, for that he had put 
when we last met together at the club, on the same sword which he made use 
told me that he had a great mind to see of at the battle of Steenkirk. Sir 
the new tragedy with me, assuring me at Roger's servants, and among the rest, 
the same time, that he had not been at my old friend the butler, had, I found, 
a play these twenty years. ' The last I 10 provided themselves with good oaken 
saw,' said Sir Roger, ' was The Com- plants, to attend their master upon this 
mittee, which I should not have gone to occasion. When we had placed him in 
neither, had not I been told before-hand his coach, with myself at his left hand, 
that it was a good Church of England the Captain before him, and his butler 
comedy.' He then proceeded to inquire 15 at the head of his footmen in the rear, 
of me who this ' Distressed Mother ' we convoyed him in safety to the play- 
was; and upon hearing that she was house, where, having marched up the 
Hector's widow, he told me that her hus- entry in good order, the Captain and I 
band was a brave man, and that when went in with him, and seated him be- 
he was a school-bov he had read his life zotwixt us in the pit. As soon as the house 
at the end of the dictionary. My friend was full, and the candles lighted, my old 
asked me, in the next place, if there friend stood up and looked about him 
would not be some danger in coming with that pleasure, which a mind sea- 
home late, in case the Mohocks should soned with humanity naturally feels in 
be abroad. ' I assure you,' says he, * I 25 itself, at the sight of a multitude of 
thought I had fallen into their hands last people who seem pleased with one another, 
night; for I observed two or three lusty and partake of the same common enter- 
black men that followed me half way up tainment. I could not but fancy myself. 
Fleet-street, and mended their pace be- as the old man stood up in the middle 
hind me, in proportion as I put on to get 30 of the pit, that he made a very proper 
away from them. You must know,' con- center to a tragic audience. Upon the 
tinned the knight, with a smile, ' I entering of Pyrrhus, the knight told me 
fancied they had a mind to hunt me ; for that he did not believe the king of France 
I remember an honest gentleman in my himself had a better strut. I was indeed 
neighborhood, who was served such a 35 very attentive to my old friend's remarks, 
trick in King Charles IPs time, for because I looked upon them as a piece 
which reason he has not ventured him- of natural criticism; and was well 
self in town ever since. I might have pleased to hear him, at the conclusion of 
shewn them very good sport, had this almost every scene, telling me that he 
been their design ; for as I am an old 40 could not imagine how the play would 
fox-hunter, I should have turned and end. One while he appeared much con- 
dodged, and have played them a thou- cerned for Andromache, and a little 
sand tricks they had never seen in their while after as much for Hermione ; and 
lives before.' Sir Roger added, that if was extremely puzzled to think what 
these gentlemen had any such intention, 45 would become of Pyrrhus. 
they did not succeed very well in it; When Sir Roger saw Andromache's 

' for I threw them out,' says he, ' at the obstinate refusal to her lover's impor- 
end of Norfolk-street, where I doubled tunities, he whispered me in the ear. 
the corner, and gat shelter in my lodg- that he was _ sure she would never have 
ings before they could imagine what was 5- him ; to which he added, with a more 
become of me. However,' says the than ordinary vehemence, ' You can't im~ 
knight, 'if Captain Sentry will make agine, sir, what it is to have to do with 
one with us to-morrow night, and if a widow.' Upon Pyrrhus his threaten- 
you will both of you call upon me about ing afterwards to leave her, the knight 
four o'clock, that we may be at the house 55 shook his head, and muttered to himself, 
before it is full, I will have my own 'Ay, do if you can.' This part dwelt 
coach in readiness to attend you, for so much upon my friend's imagination, 



THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER 343 

that at the close of the third act, as I was afterwards Orestes in his raving fit, he 
thinking of something else, he whispered grew more than ordinary serious, and 
me in my ear, 'These widows, sir, are the took occasion to moralize (in his way) 
most perverse creatures in the world, upon an evil conscience, adding, that 
But pray,' says he, ' you that are a critic, s Orestes, in his madness, looked as if he 
is this play according to your dramatic saw something. 

rules, as you call them? Should your As we were the first that came into the 
people in tragedy always talk to be un- house, so we were the last that went out 
derstood? Why, there is not a single of it; being resolved to have a clear 
sentence in this play that I do not know 10 passage for our old friend, whom we did 
the meaning of.' not care to venture among the justling 

The fourth act very unluckily began of the crowd. Sir Roger went out fully 
before I had time to give the old gentle- satisfied with his entertainment, and we 
man an answer : ' Well,' says the knight, guarded him to his lodging in the same 
sitting down with great satisfaction, ' I 15 manner that we brought him to the play- 
suppose we are now to see Hector's house; being highly pleased for my own 
ghost.' He then renewed his attention, part, not only with the performance of 
and from time to time fell a-praising the the excellent piece which had been pre- 
widow. He made, indeed, a little mis- sented, but with the satisfaction which it 
take as to one of her pages, whom at his 20 had given to the old man. 
first entering he took for Astyanax: but Tuesday, March 25, 1712. 

he quickly set himself right in that par- 
ticular, though, at the same time, he 
owned he should have been very glad 
to have seen the little boy. 'Who,' says 25 L-^o. 517.J 

he, ' must needs be a very fine child by THE DEATH OF SIR ROGER 

the account that is given of him.' Upon 

Hermione's going off with a menace to We last night received a piece of ill 

Pyrrhus, the audience gave a loud clap; news at our club, which very sensibly 
to which Sir Roger added, * On my word, 3o afflicted every one of us. I question not 
a notable young baggage ! ' but my readers themselves will be 

As there was a very remarkable si- troubled at the hearing of it. To keep 
lence and stillness in the audience during them no longer in suspense, Sir Roger 
the whole action, it was natural for them de Coverley is dead. He departed this 
to take the opportunity of the intervals 35 life at his house in the country, after a« 
between the acts, to express their opinion few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Free- 
of the players, and of their respective port has a letter from one of his cor- 
parts. Sir Roger hearing a cluster of respondents in those parts, that informs 
them praise Orestes, struck in with them, him the old man caught a cold at the 
and told them that he thought his friend 40 county sessions, as he was very warmly 
Pylades was a very sensible man ; as they promoting an address of his own pen- 
were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir ning, in which he succeeded according 
Roger put in a second time, ' And let me to his wishes. But this particular comes 
tell you,' says he, ' though he speak but from a whig justice of peace, who was 
little, I like the old fellow in whiskers as 45 always Sir Roger's enemy and antago- 
well as any of them.' Captain Sentry, nist. I have letters both from the chap- 
seeing two or three wags who sat near lain and Captain Sentry which mention 
us, lean with an attentive ear towards nothing of it, but are filled with many 
Sir Roger, and fearing lest they should particulars to the honor of the good 
smoke the knight, plucked him by the 50 old man. I have likewise a letter from 
elbow, and whispered something in his the butler, who took so much care of me 
ear, that lasted till the opening of the last summer when I was at the knight's 
fifth act. The knight was wonderfully house. As my friend the butler men- 
attentive to the account which Orestes tions, in the simplicity of his heart, 
gives of Pyrrhus his death, and at the 55 several circumstances the others have 
conclusion of it told me, it was such a passed over in silence, I shall give my 
bloody piece of work, that he was glad reader a copy of his letter, without any 
it was not done upon the stage. Seeing alteration or diminution. 



344 JOSEPH ADDISON 



' Honored Sir, lived two years longer, Coverley church 

* Knowing that you was my old mas- should have a steeple to it. The chap- 
ter's good friend, I could not forbear lain tells everybody that he made a very 
sending you the melancholy news of his good end, and never speaks of him with- 
death, which has afflicted the whole 5 out tears. He was buried, according to 
country as well as his poor servants, his own directions, among the family of 
who loved him, I may say, better than the Coverleys, on the left hand of his 
we did our lives. I am afraid he caught father Sir Arthur. The coffin was car- 
his death the last county sessions, where ried by six of his tenants, and the pall 
he would go to see justice done to a poor loheld up by six of the quorum: the whole 
widow woman, and her fatherless chil- parish followed the corpse with heavy 
dren, that had been wronged by a neigh- hearts, and in their mourning suits, the 
boring gentleman; for you know, sir, my men in frize, and the women in riding- 
good master was always the poor man's hoods. Captain Sentry, my master's 
friend. Upon his coming home, the first 15 nephew, has taken possession of the hall- 
complaint he made was, that he had lost house, and the whole estate. When my 
his roast-beef stomach, not being able old master saw him a little before his 
to touch a sirloin, which was served up death, he shook him by the hand, arid 
according to custom; and you know he wished him joy of the estate which was 
used to take great delight in it. From 20 falling to him, desiring him only to make 
that time forward he grew worse and a good use of it, and to pay the several 
worse, but still kept a good heart to the legacies, and the gifts of charity which 
last. Indeed we were once in great he told him he had left as quit-rents upon 
hope of his recovery, upon a kind the estate. The captain truly seems a 
message that was sent him from the 25 courteous man, though he says but little, 
widow lady whom he had made love to He makes much of those whom my mas- 
the forty last years of his life, but this ter loved, and shews great kindness to 
only proved a lightning before death. the old house-dog, that you know my 
He has bequeathed to this lady, as a poor master was so fond of. It would 
token of his love, a great pearl necklace, 30 have gone to your heart to have heard 
and a couple of silver bracelets set with the moans the dumb creature made on 
jewels, which belonged to my good old the day of my master's death. He has 
lady his mother: he has bequeathed the never joyed himself since; no more has 
fine white gelding, that he used to ride any of us. 'T was the melancholiest day 
-a hunting upon, to his chaplain, because 35 for the poor people that ever happened 
he thought he would be kind to him, in Worcestershire. This is all from, 
and has left you all his books. He has, ' Honored Sir, your most sorrowful 

moreover, bequeathed to the chaplain a servant, 

very pretty tenement with good lands * Edward Biscuit.' 

about it. It being a very cold day when 40 * P. S. My master desired, some 
he made his will, he left for mourn- weeks before he died, that a book which 
ing, to every man in the parish, a great comes up to you by the carrier, should 
frize-coat, and to every woman a black be given to Sir Andrew Freeport, in his 
riding-hood. It was a moving sight to name.' 
see him take leave of his poor servants, 45 

commending us all for our fidelity, whilst This letter, notwithstanding the poor 

we were not able to speak a word for butler's manner of writing it, gave us 
weeping. As we most of us are grown such an idea of our good old friend, that 
gray-headed in our dear master's service, upon the reading of it there was not a 
he has left us pensions and legacies, 50 dry eye in the club. Sir Andrew, open- 
which we may live very comfortably ing the book, found it to be a collection 
upon the remaining part of our days, of acts of parliament. There was in par- 
He has bequeathed a great deal more in ticular the act of uniformity, with some 
charity, which is not yet come to my passages in it marked by Sir Roger's 
knowledge, and it is peremptorily said 55 own hand. Sir Andrew found that they 
in the parish, that he has left money to related to two or three points, which he 
build a steeple to the church ; for he was liad disputed with Sir Roger the last 
heard to say some time ago that if he time he appeared at the club. Sir An- 



I 



PARTY PATCHES 345 



drew, who would have been merry at Patch for the 'pubHc good so much as, 
such an incident on another occasion, at for their own private advantage, it is 
the sight of the old man's hand-writing certain, that there are several women of 
burst into tears, and put the book into honor who Patch out of principle, and 
his pocket. Captain Sentry informs rne, 5 with an eye to the interest of their 
that the knight has left rings and mourn- country. Nay, I am informed that some 
ing for every one in the club. of them adhere so steadfastly to their 

Thursday, October 23, 1712. party, and are so far from sacrificing 

their zeal for the public to their passion 
10 for any particular person, that in a late 
[No. 81. J draught of marriage-articles a lady has 

PARTY PATCHES stipulated with her husband, that what- 

ever his opinions are, she shall be at 
About the middle of last winter I went liberty to patch on which sides she 
to see an opera at the theater in the 15 pleases. 

Hay-market, where I could not but take I must here take notice that Rosalinda, 

notice of two parties of very fine women, a famous whig partisan, has most un- 
that had placed themselves in the op- fortunately a very beautiful mole on the 
posite side-boxes, and seemed drawn up tory part of her forehead; which being 
in a kind of battle-array one against 20 very conspicuous, has occasioned many 
another. After a short survey of them, mistakes, and given an handle to her 
I found they were Patched differently; enemies to misrepresent her face, as 
the faces, on one hand, being spotted on though it had revolted from the whig 
the right side of the forehead, and those interest. But, whatever this natural 
upon the other on the left : I quickly 25 patch may seem to insinuate, it is well 
perceived that they cast hostile glances known that her notions of government 
upon one another; and that their Patches are still the same. This unlucky mole, 
were placed in those different situations, however, has misled several coxcombs; 
as party-signals to distinguish friends and like the hanging out of false colors, 
from foes. In the middle-boxes, be- 3° made some of them converse with Rosa- 
tween these two opposite bodies, were linda in what they thought the spirit 
several ladies who patched indifferently of her party, when on a sudden she has 
on both sides of their faces, and seemed given them an unexpected fire, that has 
to sit there with no other intention but sunk them all at once. If Rosalinda is 
to see the opera. Upon enquiry I found, 35 unfortunate in her mole, Nigranilla is as 
that the body of Amazons on my right unhappy in a pimple, which forces her, 
hand were whigs, and those on my left, against her inclinations, to patch on the 
tories: and that those who had placed whig side. 

themselves in the middle-boxes were a I am told that many virtuous mat'ons, 

neutral party, whose faces had not yet 40 who formerly have been taught to be- 
declared themselves. These last, how- lieve that this artificial spotting of the 
ever, as I afterwards found, diminished face was unlawful, are now reconciled 
daily, and took their party with one side by a zeal for their cause, to what they 
or the other; insomuch that I observed could not be prompted by a concern for 
in several of them, the patches, which 45 their beauty. This way of declaring 
were before dispersed equally, are now 'war upon one another, puts me in mind 
all gone over to the whig or tory side of' what is reported of the tigress, that 
of the face. The censorious say, that several spots rise in her skin when she 
the men whose hearts are aimed at, are is angry; or as Mr. Cowley has im- 
very often the occasions that one part 5o itated the verses that stand as the motto 
of the face is thus dishonored, and lies of this paper, 
under a kind of disgrace, while the other 

is so much set off and adorned by the — She swells with angry pride, 
owner; and that the Patches turn to the And calls forth all her spots on ev'ry side, 
right or to the left, according to the prin- 55 

ciples of the man who is most in favor. When I was in the theater the time 

But whatever may be the motives of a above-mentioned, I had the curiosity to 
few fantastical coquettes, who do not count the Patches on both sides, and 



346 JOSEPH ADDISON 



found the tory Patches* to be about against those who are perhaps of the 
twenty stronger than the whig; but to same family, or at least of the same reli- 
make amends for this small inequality, gion or nation, but against those who 
I the next morning found the whole are the open, professed, undoubted en- 
puppet-shew filled with faces spotted s eraies of their faith, liberty and coun- 
after the whiggish manner. Whether or try. When the Romans were pressed 
no the ladies had retreated hither in with a foreign enemy, the ladies volun- 
order to rally their forces, I cannot tell; tarily contributed all their rings and 
but the next night they came in so great jewels to assist the government under 
a body to the opera, that they out-num- lo the public exigence, which appeared so 
bered the enemy. laudable an action in the eyes of their 

This account of Party-patches will, I countrymen, that from thenceforth it 
am afraid, appear improbable to those was permitted by a law to pronounce 
who live at a distance from the fashion- public orations at the funeral of a woman 
able world; but as it is a distinction of 15 in praise of the deceased person, which 
a very singular nature, and what per- till that time was peculiar to men. 
haps may never meet with a parallel, I Would our English ladies, instead of 
think I should not have discharged the sticking on a patch against those of their 
office of a faithful Spectator, had I not own country, show themselves so truly 
recorded it, 20 public-spirited as to sacrifice every one 

I have, in former papers, endeavored her necklace against the common enemy, 
to expose this party-rage in women, as it what decrees ought not to be made in 
only serves to aggravate the hatred and favor of them? 

animosities that reign among men, and Since I am recollecting upon this sub- 

in a great measure deprives the fair sex 25 ject such passages as occur to my mem- 
of those peculiar charms with which ory out of ancient authors, I cannot omit 
nature has endowed them. a sentence in the celebrated funeral 

When the Romans and Sabines were oration of Pericles, which he made in 
at war, and just upon the point of giving honor of those brave Athenians that 
battle, the women who were allied to 3° v/ere slain in a fight with the Lacedse- 
both of them, interposed with so many monians. After having addressed him- 
tears and entreaties, that they prevented self to the several ranks and orders of 
the mutual slaughter which threatened his countrymen, and shown them how 
both parties, and united them together they should behave themselves in the 
in a firm and lasting peace. 35 public cause, he turns to the female part 

I would recommend this noble example of his audience; 'And as for you (says 
to our British ladies, at a time when their he) I shall advise you in very few 
country is torn with so many unnatural words: Aspire only to those virtues that 
divisions, that if they continue, it will are peculiar to your sex; follow your 
be a misfortune to be born in it. The 40 natural modesty, and think it your great- 
Greeks thought it so improper for women est commendation not to be talked of 
to interest themselves in competitions and one way or other.' 
contentions, that for this reason, among Saturday, June 2, 171 1. 

others, they forbad them, under pain of 
death, to be present at the Olympic 45 
games, notwithstanding these were the * l^^- ^SS-J 
public diversions of all Greece. " DETRACTION AMONG POETS 

As our English women excel those of 
all nations in beauty, they should en- There is nothing which more denotes 
deavor to outshine them in all other ac- 5o a great mind, than the abhorrence of 
complishments proper to the sex, and to envy and detraction. This passion 
distinguish themselves as tender mothers reigns more among bad poets, than 
and faithful wives, rather than as fu- among any other set of men. 
rious partisans. Female virtues are of As there are none more ambitious of 

a domestic turn. The family is the 55 fame, than those who are conversant in 
proper province for private women to poetry, it is very natural for such as 
shine in. If they must be showing have not succeeded in it, to depreciate 
their zeal for the public, let it not be the works of those who have. For since 



DETRACTION AMONG POETS 347 

they cannot raise themselves to the rep- tions follow one another like those in 
utation of their fellow-writers, they must Horace's Art of Poetry, without that 
endeavor to sink it to their own pitch, methodical regularity which would have 
if they would still keep themselves upon a been requisite in a prose author. They 
level with them. 5 are some of them uncommon, but such as 

The greatest wits that ever were pro- the reader must assent to, when he sees 
duced in one age, lived together in so them explained with that elegance and 
good an understanding, and celebrated perspicuity in which they are deliv- 
one another with so much generosity, ered. As for those which are the 
that each of them receives an additional lo most known, and the most received, they 
luster from his contemporaries, and is are placed in so beautiful a light, and 
more famous for having lived with illustrated with such apt allusions, that 
men of so extraordinary a genius, than if they have in them all the graces of nov- 
he had himself been the sole wonder of elty, and make the reader, who was be- 
the age. I need not tell my reader, that 15 fore acquainted with them, still more 
I here point at the reign of Augustus, convinced of their truth and solidity, 
and I believe he will be of my opinion, And here give me leave to mention what 
that neither Virgil nor Horace would Monsieur Boileau has so very well en- 
have gained so great a reputation in the larged upon in the preface to his works, 
world, had they not been the friends and 20 that wit and fine writing doth not con- 
admirers of each other. Indeed all the sist so much in advancing things that are 
great writers of that age, for whom new, as in giving things that are known 
singly we have so great an esteem, stand an agreeable turn. It is impossible for 
up together as vouchers for one another's us, who live in the latter ages of the 
reputation. But at the same time that 25 world, to make observations in criticism, 
Virgil was celebrated by Gallus, Prop- morality, or in any art or science, which 
ertius, Horace, Varius, Tucca and Ovid, have not been touched upon by others, 
we know that Bavius and Masvius were We have little else left us, but to rep- 
his declared foes and calumniators. resent the common sense of mankind in 

In our own country a man seldom sets 3° more strong, more beautiful, or more 
up for a poet, without attacking the uncommon lights. If a reader examines 
reputation of all his brothers in the art. Horace's Art of Poetry, he will find but 
The ignorance of the moderns, the very few precepts in it, which he may 
scribblers of the age, the decay of poetry, not meet with in Aristotle, and which 
are the topics of detraction, with which 35 were not commonly known by all the 
he makes his entrance into the world; poets of the Augustan age. His way 
but how much more noble is the fame of expressing and applying them, not 
that is built on candor and ingenuity, his invention of them, is what we are 
according to those beautiful lines of Sir chiefly to admire. 

John Denham, in his poem on Fletcher's 40 For this reason I think there is noth- 
works ! ing in the world so tiresome as the 

works of those critics who write in a 
But whither am I strayed? I need not positive dogmatic way, without either 
raise language, genius or imagination. If the 

Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise : 45 reader would see how the best of the 
Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built, Latin critics writ, he may find their man- 

Nnr needs thy juster title the foul guilt ner very beautifully described in the 

Of eastern Kings, who to secure their reign characters of Horace, Petronius, Quin- 
Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred tilian and Longinus, as they are drawn 
slain. 50 in the essay of which I am now speak- 

ing. 

I am sorry to find that an author, Since I have mentioned Longinus, who 
who is very justly esteemed among the in his reflections has given us the same 
best judges, has admitted some strokes kind of sublime, which he observes in 
of this nature into a very fine poem, I 55 the several passages that occasioned 
mean The Art of Criticism, which was them ; I cannot but take notice, that our 
published some months since, and is a English author has after the same man- 
master-piece in its kind. The observa- ner exemplified several of his precepts 



348 JOSEPH ADDISON 



in the very precepts themselves. I shall piece in its kind; the Essay on Trans- 
produce two or three instances of this lated Verse; the Essay on the Art of 
kind. Speaking of the insipid smooth- Poetry, and the Essay upon Criticism. 
ness which some readers are so much Thursday, December 20, 171 1. 
in love with, he has the following verses. 5 

These equal syllables alone require, [No. 26.] 

Though oft the ear the OPEN vowels tire, WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

While expletives their leeble aid do join, 

And ten low words oft creep in one dull ^q When I am in a serious humor, I very 
line. often walk by myself in Westminster 

Abbey; where the gloominess of the 
The gaping of the vowels in the sec- place and the use to which it is applied, 
end line, the expletive do m the third, ^jth the solemnity of the building, and 
and the ten monosyllables in the fourth, ^^ ^he condition of the people who lie in it, 
give such a beauty to this passage, as ^re apt to fill the mind with a kind of 
would have been very much admired in melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, 
an ancient poet. The reader may ob- ^^^^ jg ^^^ disagreeable. I yesterday 
serve the following lines in the same p^gg^^ ^ whole afternoon in the church- 
"v^i^w. 20 yard, the cloisters, and the church, amus- 

. , ^1 ing myself with the tombstones and 

A needless alexandrine ends the song, . = . /. .1 . t . -.i, • ^t, 

rp, ; 1-, 11 1 J V 1 inscriptions that I met with in those sev- 

That like a wounded snake, drags its slow ,^. rxujj T\/r*.j:4.u™ 

, ^, , > a gj.^1 regions of the dead. Most of them 

ip-np"rn slono'' ' - o 

^ ^ recorded nothing else of the buried per- 

And afterwards, ^^ son but that he was born upon one day, 

and died upon another, the whole history 
'T 'is not enough no harshness gives of- of his_ life being comprehended in those 

fejjse two circumstances, that are common to 

The sound must seem an echo to the sense. aH mankind. I could not but look upon 
Soft is the strain when Zephir gently blows, ^^ these registers of existence, whether of 
And the smooth stream in smoother num- brass or marble, as a kind of satire 

BERs flows ; upon the departed persons ; who had left 

But when loud surges lash the sounding no other memorial of them, but that they 

shore, were born and that they died. They put 

The HOARSE, ROUGH VERSE should like the 35 me in mind of several persons mentioned 

torrent roar. in the battles of heroic poems, who have 

When AjAx strives, some rock's vast weight sounding names given them, for no other 

to throw, reason but that they may be killed, and 

The line too labors, and the words move are celebrated for nothing but being 

slow: 40 knocked on the head. 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the 

p]3ij^ TXavKov re MeSovrd re QepaiXoxov re. Horn. 

Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims Glaucumque, Medontaque, Thersilochumque. 
along the main. Virg. 

45 

The beautiful distich upon Ajax in the The life of these men is finely described 

foregoing lines, puts me in mind of a in holy writ by 'the path of an arrow,' 

description in Homer's Odyssey. * * * which is immediately closed up and lost. 

It would be endless to quote verses out Upon my going into the church, I en- 
of Virgil which have this particular kind so tertained myself with the digging of a 

of beauty in the numbers ; but I may take grave ; and saw in every shovel-full of 

an occasion in a future paper to shew it that was thrown up, the fragment of 

several of them which have escaped the a bone or skull intermixt with a kind of 

observation of others. fresh moldering earth, that some time 

I cannot conckide this paper without 55 or other had a place in the composition 

taking notice, that we have three poems of an human body. Upon this, I began 

in our tongue, which are of the same to consider with myself what innumer- 

nature, and each of them a master- able multitudes of people lay confused 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 349 

together under the pavement -of that an- the many remarkable actions he had 
cient cathedral; how men and women, performed in the service of his country, 
friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, it acquaints us only with the manner of 
monks and prebendaries, were crumbled his death, in which it was impossible for 
amongst one another, and blended to- 5 him to reap any honor. The Dutch, 
gether in the same common mass; how whom we are apt to despise for want of 
beauty, strength, and youth, with old-age, genius, shew an infinitely greater taste 
weakness and deformity, lay undistin- of antiquity and politeness in their 
guished in the same promiscuous heap of buildings and works of this nature, than 
matter. 10 what we meet with in those of our own 

After having thus surveyed this great country. The monuments of their ad- 
magazine of mortality, as it were, in the mirals, which have been erected at the 
lump ; I examined it more particularly by public expense, represent them like 
the accounts which I found on several of themselves; and are adorned with ros- 
the monuments which are raised in every 15 tral crowns and naval ornaments, with 
quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of beautiful festoons of sea-weed, shells, 
them were covered with such extrava- and coral. 

gant epitaphs, that, if it were possible But to return to our subject. I have 

for the dead person to be acquainted left the repository of our English kings 
with them, he would blush at the praises 20 for the contemplation of another day, 
which his friends have bestowed upon when I shall find my mind disposed for 
him. There are others so excessively so serious an amusement. I know that 
modest, that they deliver the character entertainments of this nature are apt to 
of the person departed in Greek or raise dark and dismal thoughts in timor- 
Hebrew, and by that means are not un- 25 ous minds, and gloomy imaginations ; 
derstood once in a twelvemonth. In the but for my own part, though I am al- 
poetical quarter, I found there were ways serious, I do not know what it is 
poets who had no monuments, and mon- to be melancholy; and can therefore take 
uments which had no poets. I observed a view of nature in her deep and solemn 
indeed that the present war had filled the 3° scenes, with the same pleasure as in her 
church with many of these uninhabited most gay and delightful ones. By this 
monuments, which had been erected to means I can improve myself with those 
the memory of persons whose bodies objects, which others consider with ter- 
were perhaps buried in the plains of ror. When I look upon the tombs of 
Blenheim, or in the bosom of the ocean. 35 the great, every emotion of envy dies in 

I could not but be very much delighted me ; when I read the epitaphs of the 
with several modern epitaphs, which are beautiful, every inordinate desire goes 
written with great elegance of expres- out; when I meet with the grief of 
sion and justness of thought, and there- parents upon a tomb-stone, my heart 
fore do honor to the living as well as 40 melts with compassion ; when I see the 
to the dead. As a foreigner is very apt tomb of the parents themselves, I con- 
to conceive an idea of the ignorance or sider the vanity of grieving for those 
politeness of a nation, from the turn of whom we must quickly follow; when I 
their public monuments and inscriptions, see kings lying by those who deposed 
they should be submitted to the perusal 4S them, when I consider rival wits placed 
of men of learning and genius, before side by side, or the holy men that divided 
they are put in execution. Sir Cloud- the world with their contests and dis- 
esly Shovel's monument has very often putes, I reflect with sorrow and aston- 
given me great offense: Instead of the ishment on the little competitions, fac- 
brave rough English admiral, which was 5° tions and debates of mankind. When I 
the distinguishing character of that plain read the several dates of the tombs, of 
gallant man, he is represented on his some that died yesterday, and some six 
tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in hundred years ago, I consider that great 
a long periwig, _ and reposing himself day when we shall all of us be contem- 
upon velvet cushions under a canopy of ss poraries, and make our appearance to- 
state. The inscription is answerable to gether. 
the Monument; for instead of celebrating Friday, March 30, 171 1. 



ok 



ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744) 

Pope was born in London, the year of the protestant revolution. His parents, who were 
catholics, shortly retired to a country home near Windsor Forest, and there the poet passed 
most of his boyhood. Deformed and sickly from his birch, he was reared with great tender- 
ness and compliance and, after his twelfth year, was chiefly self-educated. He read widely 
and at random among English authors and was an eager, though inexact, student of the 
ancient classics. At a remarkably early age. he became avid of literary fame and displayed 
a talent for acquainting himself with the literary personalities of the day. Before he was 
twelve, he had visited Will's coffee-house in order to have a look at the great Dryden and, 
Avhile yet a boy, had passed from the courting to the quarreling stage with Wycherley. His 
precocity as a verse-maker, which he never troubled himself to disparage, is celebrated in the 
well-known couplet : 

As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 
I lisped in numbers for the numbers came. 

He claimed to have written his Pastorals at sixteen. They were printed" in 1709, and imme- 
diately attracted attention. His Messkih and his Essay on Criticism won the encomiums of 
The Spectator and admitted him to Addison's circle. The Rape of the Lock (1712-14) con- 
firmed his reputation, and his translation of the Iliad (1715-18) and the Odyssey (com- 
pleted 1726) procured him a competence. 'Thanks to Homer,' he 'could live and thrive, 
indebted to no prince or peer alive.' He purchased a villa on the Thames at Twickenham, 
and there spent the last twenty-five years of his life, improving his ' grotto ' and gardens, 
entertaining wits and social celebrities, and polishing off his rivals in finished satirical verse 
of which the monumental example is The Dunciad, published in 1728, but afterward much 
altered and amplified. His best known attempt at philosophical poetry is the superficial, 
but eminently quotable, Essay on Man (1732^). Pope is chiefly valued for the smoothness 
and sweetness of his versification, and for his gift of turning into brief and memorable 
phrase ' what oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.' Though not a great poet in the 
highest sense of that term, he is often glowing and sometimes powerful in declamation ; while 
for mischievous innuendo and sustained condensation and point he has no equal in English 
poetry. His satire, unlike Drydeu's, is usually personal and frequently poisoned by the same 
envy and malice which impaired his character and conduct. ' Leave Pope as soon as you can ; 
he is sure to play you some devilish trick else,' Addison wrote to Lady Montagu, — one 
victim of Pope's shiftiness to another. Pope's physical inferiority made him preternaturally 
sensitive and distorted his social outlook. He could be pitifully base and treacherous where 
his vanity was engaged, and his literary career was a tissue of trivial deceits and mean 
animosities. Yet we cannot but admire the indomitableness of the mind wdiich, in spite 
of physical suffering and humiliation, fought its way by fair means and foul, to the chief 
place in the literature of its time. 



AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 
I 

a'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill 
f Appear in writing or in judging ill ; 
But, of the two, less dangerous is the of- 
fense 
To tire our patience, than mislead our 

sense. 
Some few in that, but numbers err in this, 5 



Ten censure wrong for one who writes 

amiss ; 
A fool might once himself alone expose. 
Now one in verse makes many more in 

prose. 
'T is with our judgments as our watches, 

none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. lo 
In poets as true genius is but rare, 
True taste as seldom is the critic's share; 



350 



AN ^SSAY ON CRITICISM 



351 



Both must alike from Heaven i' -rive their 

light, 
These born to judge, as well as those to 

write. 
Let such teach others who themselves ex- 
cel, '3 
And censure freely who have written well. 
Authors are partial to their wit, 't is true, 
But are not critics to their judgment too? 
Yet if we look more closely, we shall 

find 
Most have the seeds of judgment in their 

mind : 20 

Nature affords at least a glimmering light ; 
The lines, though touched but faintly, aj;e 

drawn right. 
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced. 
Is by ill-coloring but the more disgraced. 
So by false learning is good sense defaced ; 
Some are bewildered in the maze of schools. 
And some made coxcombs nature meant 

but fools. 27 

In search of wit these lose their common 

sense, 
And then turn critics in their own defense ; 
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot writs. 
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite. 3' 
All fools have still an itching to deride, 
And fain would be upon the laughing 

side. 
If Msevius scribble in Apollo's spite. 
There are who judge still worse than he can 

write. 35 

Some have at first for wits, then poets 

passed, 
Turned critics next, and proved plain fools 

at last. 
Some neither can for wits nor critics 

pass. 
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass. 
Those half-learned witlings, numerous in 
■, our isle, 4° 

As half-formed insects on the banks of 

Nile ; 
Unfinished things, one knows not what to 

call, 
Their generation 's so equivocal : 
To tell 'em, would a hundred tongues re- 
quire. 
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred 

tire. 4S 

But you who seek to give and merit fame, 
And justly bear a critic's noble name. 
Be sure yourself and your own reach to 

know. 
How far your genius, taste, and learning 

go; 
Launch not beyond your depth, but be dis- 
creet, 50 



And mark that point where sense and dul- 
ness meet. 
Nature to all things fixed the limits fit. 
And wisely curbed proud man's pretending 

wit. 
As on the land while here the ocean gains, 
In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains ; 
Thus in the soul while memory prevails, s6 
The solid power of understanding fails; 
Where beams of warm imagination play. 
The memory's soft figures melt away. 
One science only will one genius fit; 60 

So vast is art, so narrow human wit : 
Not only bounded to peculiar arts, 
But oft in those confined to single parts. 
Like kings we lose the conquests gained 

before, 
By vain ambition still to make them more ; 
Each might his several province well com- 
mand, 66 
Would all but stoop to what they under- 
stand. 
First follow Nature, and your judgment 
frame 
By her just standard, which is still the 

same : 
Unerring Nature, still divinely bright, 7° 
One clear, unchanged, and universal light. 
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart. 
At once the source, and end, and test of 

Art. 
Art from that fund each just supply pro- 
vides, 
Works without show, and without pomp 
presides : 75 

In some fair body thus the informing soul 
With spirits feeds, with vigor fills the whole. 
Each motion guides, and every nerve sus- 
tains ; 
Itself unseen, but in the effects, remains. 
Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been pro- 
fuse, 80 
Want as much more, to turn it to its use ; 
For wit and judgment often are at strife. 
Though meant each other's aid, like man 
and wife. 

IT is more to guide than spur the Muse's 
steed ; 84 

Restrain his fury, than provoke his speed ; 
The winged courser, like a generous horse. 
Shows most tru^ mettle when you check his 
course. 
Those rules of old discovered, not devised. 
Are Nature still, but Nature methodized ; 
Nature, like liberty, is but restrained 90 

By the same laws which first herself or- 
dained. 
Hear how learned Greece her useful rules 
indites. 



352 



ALEXANDER POPE 



When to repress, and when indulge our 

flights: 
High on Parnassus' top her sons she 

showed, 
And pointed out those arduous paths they 

trod; 95 

Held from afar, aloft, the immortal prize, 
And urged the rest by equal steps to rise. 
Just precepts thus from great examples 

given. 
She drew from them what they derived from 

Heaven. 
The generous critic fanned the poet's fire, 
And taught the world with reason to ad- 
mire. 1°' 
Then criticism the Muses' handmaid proved, 
To dress her charms, and make her more 

beloved : 
I But following wits from that intention 

strayed, 
Who could not win the mistress, wooed the 

maid; los 

Against the poets their own arms they 

turned, 
Sure to hate most the men from whom they 

learned. 
So modern 'pothecaries, taught the art 
By doctor's bills to play the doctor's part. 
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules, i^o 
Prescribe, apply, and call their masters 

fools. 
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey, 
Nor time nor moths e'er spoiled so much 

as they. 
I Some dryly plain, without invention's aid, 
I Write dull receipts, how poems may be 
' made. us 

These leave the sense, their learning to dis- 
play. 
And those explain the meaning quite away. 
You, then, whose judgment the right 

course would steer. 
Know well each ancient's proper character ; 
His fable, subject, scope in every page; i^o 
Religion, country, genius of his age : 
Without all th^ese at once before your eyes, 
Cavil you may, but never criticise. 
l|Be Homer's works your study and delight, 
f Read them by day, and meditate by night ; 
jThence form your judgment, thence your 
j maxims bring, i-6 

[And trace the Muses upward to their 

spring. 
Still with itself compared, his text peruse; 
And let your comment be the Mantuan 

Muse. 
When first young Maro in his boundless 

mind 130 



A work to outlast immortal Rome designed, 

Perhaps he seemed above the critic's law, 

And but from nature's fountains scorned 
to draw: 

But when to examine every part he came, 

Nature and Homer were, he found, the 
same. '35 

Convinced, amazed, he checks the bold de- 
sign ; 

And rules as strict his labored work con- 
fine. 

As if the Stagirite o'erlooked each line. 

Learn hence for ancient rules a just es- 
teem ; 

Xo copy nature is to copy them. uo 

Some beauties yet no precepts can declare, 

For there 's a happiness as well as care. 

Music resembles poetry, in each 

Are nameless graces which no methods 
teach, 

And which a master-hand alone can 
reach. '45 

If, where the rules not far enough extend, 

(Since rules were made but to promote 
their end) 

Some lucky license answer to the full 

The intent proposed, that license is a rule. 

Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, iso 

May boldly deviate from the common track ; 

From vulgar bounds with brave disorder 
part, 

And snatch a grace beyond the reach of 
art, 

Which without passing through the judg- 
ment, gains '54 

The heart, and all its end at once attains. 

Li prospects thus, some objects please our 
eyes. 

Which out of nature's common order rise. 

The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. 

Great wits sometimes may gloriously of- 
fend, r. 

And rise to faults true critics dare not 
mend. '6° 

But though the ancients thus their rules in- 
vade, 

(As kings dispense with laws themselves 
have made) 

Moderns, beware! or if you must offend 

Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end ; 

Let it be seldom and compelled by need; 165 

And have, at least, their precedent to plead. 

The critic else proceeds without remorse. 

Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. 
I know there are, to whose presumptuous 
thoughts 

Those freer beauties, even in them, seem 
faults. 170 



AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 



353 



Some figures monstrous and mis-shaped ap- 
pear, 

Considered singlj'-, or beheld too near, 

Which, but proportioned to their light or 
place. 

Due distance reconciles to form and grace. 

A prudent chief not always must display i"S 

His powers in equal ranks, and fair array, 

But with the occasion and the place com- 
ply, 

Conceal his force, nay, seem sometimes to 

fly. 
yThose oft are stratagems which errors seem. 

Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. 

Still green with bays each ancient altar 

stands, iSi 

Above the reach of sacrilegious hands ; 

Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer 
rage. 

Destructive war, and all-involving age. 

See, from each clime the learned their in- 
cense bring! 185 

Hear, in all tongues, consenting peans ring! 

In praise so just let every voice be joined, 

And fill "the general chorus of mankind. 

Hail, bards triumphant ! born in happier 
days ; 

Immortal heirs of universal praise! 190 

Whose honors with increase of ages grow. 

As streams roll down, enlarging as they 
flow ; 

Nations unborn your mighty names shall 
sound, 

And worlds applaud that must not yet be 
found ! 

Oh, may some spark of your celestial fire. 

The last, the meanest of your sons in- 
spire, 190 

(That on weak wings, from far, pursues 
your flights ; 

Glows while he reads, but trembles as he 
writes) 

To teach vain wits a science little known, 

To admire superior sense, and doubt their 
own ! 200 



II 



Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the 

mind. 
What the weak head with strongest bias 

rules. 
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 
Whatever nature has in worth denied, 20s 
She gives in large recruits of needful pride; 
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find 



What wants in blood and spirits, swelled 

with wind : 
Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our de- 
fense. 
And fills up all the mighty void of sense. 
If once right reason drives that cloud 

away, 211 

Truth breaks upon as with resistless day. 
Trust not yourself; but your defects to 

know. 
Make use of every friend — and every foe. 
I A little learning is a dangerous thing; 215 
^ Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: 
iThere shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 
lAnd drinking largely sobers us again. 
Fire(!^at first sight with what the Muse im- 
parts. 
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of 

arts, 220 

While from the bounded level of our mind, 
Short views we take, nor see the lengths 

behind; 
But more advanced, behold with strange 

surprise 
New distant scenes of endless science rise! 
So pleased at first the towering Alps we 

try, 225 

Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the 

sky, 
The eternal snows appear already past. 
And the first clouds and mountains seem 

the last; 
But, those attained, we tremble to survey 
The growing labors of the lengthened way, 
The increasing prospect tires our wandering 

eyes, 231 

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps 

arise ! 
A perfect judge will read each work of 

wit 
With the same spirit that its author writ: 
Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to 

find 23s 

Where nature moves, and rapture warms the 

mind ; 
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight. 
The generous pleasure to be charmed with 

wit. 
But in such lays as neither ebb, nor flow, 
Correctly cold, and regularly low, 240 

That shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep ; 
We cannot blame indeed, but we may sleep. 
v In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts 
Is not the exactness of peculiar parts; 
'T is not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, 245 
But the joint force and full result of all. 
Thus when we view some well-proportioned 

dome. 



354 



ALEXANDER POPE 



(The world's just wonder, and e'en thine, 

O Rome!) 
No single parts unequally surprise, 
All conies united to the admiring eyes ; 250 
No monstrous height, or breadth, or length 

appear ; 
The whole at once is bold, and regular. 
I Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 
I Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall 
^ be. 

I In every work regard the writer's end, 2SS 
Since none can compass more than they in- 
tend ; 
And if the means be just, the conduct true, 
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due; 
As men of breeding, sometimes men A wit, 
To avoid great errors, must the less com- 
mit: 260 
Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays. 
For not to know some trifles, is a praise. 
Most critics, fond of some subservient art. 
Still make the whole depend upon a part : 
They talk of principles, but notions prize, 
And all to one loved folly sacrifice. 266 
Once on a time. La Mancha's knight, they 
say, 
A certain bard encountering on the way. 
Discoursed in terms as just, with looks as 

sage. 
As e'er could Dennis of the Grecian stage; 
Concluding all were desperate sots and 
fools, 271 

Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. 
Our author, happy in a judge so nice. 
Produced his play, and begged the knight's 

advice ; 
Made him observe the subject, and the 
plot, 275 

The manners, passions, unities, what not? 
All which, exact to rule, were brought 

about. 
Were but a combat in the lists left out. 
' What ! leave the combat out ? ' exclaims 

the knight; 
Yes, or we must renounce the Stagirite. 280 
' Not so, by Heaven ' (he answers in a 

rage), 
' Knights, squires, and steeds, must enter on 

the stage.' 
So vast a throng the stage can ne'er con- 
tain. 
* Then build a new, or act it in a plain.' 
Thus critics, of less judgment than 
caprice, ■ 285 

Curious not knowing, not exact but nice, 
Form short ideas; and ofifend in arts 
(As most in manners) by a love to parts. 
Some to conceit alone th®ir taste confine. 



And glittering thoughts struck out at every 

line; 290 

Pleased with a work where nothing 's just 

or fit; 
One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. 
Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace 
The naked nature and the living grace. 
With gold and jewels cover every part, 29s 
And hide with ornaments their want of 

art. 
I True wit is nature to advantage dressed, 
I What oft was thought, but ne'er so well ex- 
■ pressed; 
Something, whose truth convinced at sight 

we find. 
That gives us back the image of our mind 
As shades more sweetly recommend the 

light, 301 

So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit. 
For works may have more wit than does 

'em good. 
As bodies perish thro' excess of blood. 304 
Others for language all their care express. 
And value books, as women, men for dress : 
Their praise is still, — the style is excellent: 
The sense, they humbly take upon content. 
I Words are like leaves; and where they 

most abound, 309 

Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found; 
False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 
Its gaudy colors spreads on every place; 
The face of nature we no more survey, 
All glares alike, without distinction gay: 
But true expression, like the unchanging 

sun, 315 

Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon, 
It gilds all objects, but it alters none. 
Expression is the dress of thought, and 

still 
Appears more decent, as more suitable; 
A vile conceit in pompous words expressed, 
Is like a clown in regal purple dressed: 321 
For different styles with different subjects 

sort, 
As several garbs with country, towti, and 

court. 
Some by old words to fame have made 

pretense. 
Ancients in phrase, mere moderns in their 

sense; 325 

Such labored nothings, in so strange a 

style, 
Amaze the unlearned, and make the learned 

smile. 
Unlucky, as Fungoso in the play. 
These sparks with awkward vanity display 
What the fine gentleman wore yesterday; 33o 
And but so mimic ancient wits at best. 



AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 



355 



As apes our grandsires, in their doublets 

dressed. 
In words, as fashions, the same rule will 

hold; 
Alike fantastic, if too new, or old : 
Be not the first by whom the new are tried, 
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. 336 
But most by numbers judge a poet's song ; 
And smooth or rough, with them, is right 

or wrong: 
In the bright Muse though thousand charms 

conspire, 339 

Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; 
Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, 
Not mend their minds ; as some to church 

repair, 
Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 
These equal syllables alone require, 344 

Though oft the ear the open vowels tire ; 
While expletives their feeble aid do join ; 
And ten low words oft creep in one dull 

line : 
While they ring round the same unvaried 

chimes. 
With sure returns of still expected rhymes ; 

1; Where'er you find ' the cooling western 
I breeze,' 3So 

'in the next Hne, it 'whispers through the 
/ trees'; 

l,If crystal streams * with pleasing murmurs 
V creep,' 
The reader 's threatened (not in vain) with 

' sleep ' : 

Then, at the last* and only couplet fraught 

iWith some unmeaning thing they call a 

I thought, 355 

'A needless Alexandrine ends the song. 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow 

length along. 
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, 

and know 
What's roundly smooth or langui shingly 

slow; 
And praise the easy vigor of a line, 360 
Where Denham's strength, and Waller's 

sweetness join. 
True ease in writing comes from art, not 

chance, 
As those move easiest who have learned to 

dance. 
'T is not enough no harshness gives offense. 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense : 
'Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently 
blows, 366 

And the smooth stream in smoother num- 
bers flows; 
But when loud surges lash the sounding 
shore. 



I The hoarse, rough verse should like the 
torrent roar : 

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight 
to throw, 370 

The line too labors, and the words move 
slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the 
plain. 

Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims 
along the main. 

Hear how Timotheus' varied lays surprise, 

And bid alternate passions fall and rise ! 

While, at each change, the son of Libyan 
Jove Z7^ 

Now burns with glory, and then melts with 
love ; 

Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury 
glow, 

Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to 
flow: 

Persians and Greeks like turns of nature 
found, 380 

And the world's victor stood subdued by 
sound ! 

The power of music all our hearts allow, 

And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now. 
Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of 
such, 

Who still are pleased too little or too much. 

At every trifle scorn to take off"ense, 386 

That always shows great pride, or little 
sense ; 

Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the 
best, 

Which nauseate all, and nothing can di- 
gest. 

Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move; 

For fools admire, but men of sense ap- 
prove : 391 

As things seem large which we through 
mists descry, 

Dulness is ever apt to magnify. 
Some foreign writers, some our own de- 
spise ; 394 

The ancients only, or the moderns prize. 

Thus wit, like faith, by each man is ap- 
plied 

To one small sect, and all are damned be- 
side. 

Meanly they seek the blessing to confine. 

And force that sun but on a part to shine, 

Which not alone the southern wit sub- 
limes, 400 

But ripens spirits in cold northern climes ; 

Which from the first has shone on ages 
past, 

Enlights the present, and shall warm the 
last; 



356 



ALEXANDER POPE 



Though each may feel increases and decays, 

And see now clearer and now darker days. 

Regard not then if wit be old or new, 406 

But blame the false, and value still the 
true. 
Some ne'er advance a judgment of their 
own. 

But catch the spreading notion of the town ; 

They reason and conclude by precedent, 410 

And own stale nonsense which they ne'er in- 
vent. 

Some judge of authors' names, not works, 
and then 

Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the 
men. 

Of all this servile herd the worst is he 

That in proud dullness joins with quality. 41S 

A constant critic at the great man's board. 

To fetch and carry nonsense for my lord. 

What woeful stuff this madrigal would be. 

In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me? 

But let a lord once own the happy lines, 4^° 

How the wit brightens ; how the style re- 
fines ! 

Before his sacred name flies every fault, 

And each exalted stanza teems with 
thought ! 
The vulgar thus through imitation err; 

As oft the learned by being singular; 4^5 

So much they scorn the crowd, that if the 
throng 

By chance go right, they purposely go 
wrong ; 

So schismatics the plain believers quit. 

And are but damned for having too much 
wit. 

Some praise at morning what they blame at 
night ; 430 

But always think the last opinion right. 

A Muse by these is like a mistress used, 

This hour she 's idolized, the next abused ; 

While their weak heads like towns unforti- 
fied, 

'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change 
their side-. 435 

Ask them the cause; they're wiser still, 
they say; 

And still to-morrow 's wiser than to-day. 

We think our fathers fools, so wise we 
grow 

Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. 

Once school-divines this zealous isle o'er- 
spread ; * 440 

Who knew most Sentences, was deepest 
read; 

Faith, Gospel, all seemed made to be dis- 
puted : 

And none had sense enough to be confuted: 



Scotists and Thomists, now in peace re- 
main. 
Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck 

Lane, 44s 

If faith itself has different dresses worn. 
What wonder modes in wit should take 

their turn? 
Oft, leaving what is natural and fit. 
The current folly proves the ready wit ; 
And authors think their reputation safe, 
Which lives as long as fools are pleased to 

laugh. 451 

Some valuing those of their own side of 

mind, 
Still make themselves the measure of man- 
kind : 
Fondly we think we honor merit then. 
When we but praise ourselves in other 

men. 4SS 

Parties in wit attend on those of state. 
And public faction doubles private hate. 
Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose. 
In various shapes of parsons, critics, beaus; 
But sense survived, when merry jests were 

past ; 460 

For rising merit will buoy up at last. 
Might he return, and bless once more our 

eyes, 
New Blackmores and new Milbourns must 

arise : 
Nay, should great Homer lift his awful 

head, 464 

Zoilus again would start up from the dead. 
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue ; 
But like a shadow, proves the substance 

true; 
For envied wit, like Sol eclipsed, makes 

known 
The opposing body's grossness, not its own. 
When first that sun too powerful beams 

displays, 470 

It draws up vapors which obscure its rays ; 
But ev'n those clouds at last adorn its way. 
Reflect new glories, and augment the day. 
Be thou the first true merit to defend. 
His praise is lost, who stays till all com- 
mend. 475 
Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes. 
And 't is but just to let them live betimes. 
No longer now that golden age appears, 
When patriarch-wits survived a thousand 

years : 
Now length of fame (our second life) is 

lost, 480 

And bare threescore is all ev'n that can 

boast ; 
Our sons their fathers' failing language 

see. 



AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 



357 



And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden be. 

So when the faithful pencil has designed 

Some bright idea of the master's mind, 48s 

Where a new word leaps out at his com- 
mand, 

And ready nature waits upon his hand ; 

When the ripe colors soften and unite, 

And sweetly melt into just shade and light; 

When mellow years their full perfection 
give, 490 

And each bold figure just begins to live. 

The treacherous colors the fair art betray. 

And all the bright creation fades away! 
UnRappy wit, like most mistaken things. 

Atones not for that envy which it brings. 

In youth alone its empty praise we boast. 

But soon the short-lived vanity is lost : 497 

Like some fair flower the early spring 
supplies, 

That gaily blooms, but even in blooming 
dies. 

What is this wit, which must our cares em- 
ploy? 500 

The owner's wife, that other men enjoy; 

Then most our trouble still when most 
admired. 

And still the more we give, the more re- 
quired ; 

Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose 
with ease, 504 

Sure some to vex, but never all to please; 

'T is what the vicious fear, the virtuous 
shun, 

By fools 't is hated, and by knaves undone ! 
If wit so much from ignorance undergo. 

Ah, let not learning too commence its foe ! 

Of old, those met rewards who could excel, 

And such were praised who but endeavored 
well: SI I 

Though triumphs jvere to generals only 
due, 

Crowns were reserved to grace the soldiers 
too. 

Now, they who reach Parnassus' lofty 
crown. 

Employ their pains to spurn some others 
down; 51S 

And while self-love each jealous writer 
rules. 

Contending wits become the sport of fools : 

But still the worst with most regret com- 
mend, 

For each ill author is as bad a friend. 

To what base ends, and by what abject 
ways, 520 

Are mortals urged through sacred lust of 
praise ! 



Ah, ne'er so dire a thirst of glory boast, 
Nor in the critic let the man be lost. 
Good-nature and good-sense must ever 

join ; 
To err is human, to forgive, divine. 525 
But if in noble minds some dregs remain 
Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour 

disdain ; 
Discharge that rage on more provoking 

crimes, 
Nor fear a dearth in these flagitious times. 
No pardon vile obscenity should find, 530 
Though wit and art conspire to move your 

mind ; 
But dulness with obscenity must prove 
As shameful sure as impotence in love. 
In the fat age of pleasure, wealth, and 

ease, 
Sprung the rank weed, and thrived with 

large increase : S3S 

When love was all an easy Monarch's care; 
Seldom at council, never in a war : 
Jilts ruled the state, and statesmen farces 

writ; 
Nay, wits had pensions, and young lords 

had wit : 
The fair sat panting at a courtier's play, 54° 
And not a mask went unimproved away: 
The modest fan was lifted up no more. 
And virgins smiled at what they blushed 

before. 
The following license of a foreign reign 
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain ; S45 
Then unbelieving priests reformed the 

nation, 
And taught more pleasant methods of 

salvation ; 
Where Heaven's free subjects might their 

rights dispute, 
Lest God himself should seem too absolute: 
Pulpits their sacred satire learned to spare 
And vice admired to find a flatterer there! 
Encouraged thus, wit's Titans braved the 

skies, 552 

And the press groaned with licensed 

blasphemies. 
These monsters, critics ! with your darts 

engage, 
Here point your thunder, and exhaust your 



rage 



555 



Yet shun their fault, who, scandalously 

nice. 
Will needs mistake an author into vice ; 
All seems infected that the infected spy, 
As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye. 
* * * 

(1711) 



358 



ALEXANDER POPE 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 
CANTO I 

What dire offense from amorous causes 

springs, 
What mighty contests rise from trivial 

things, 
I sing — This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due: 
This, even Belinda may vouchsafe to view : 
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, 
H she inspire, and he approve my lays. 6 
Say what strange motive, goddess ! could 

compel 
A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle? 
Oh, say what stranger cause, yet un- 
explored. 
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? ^o 
In tasks so bold, can little men engage. 
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty 

rage? 
Sol through white curtains shot a timor- 
ous ray. 
And oped those eyes that must eclipse the 

day: 
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing 

shake, is 

And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake: 
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked 

the ground. 
And the pressed watch returned a silver 

sound. 
Belinda still her downy pillow pressed. 
Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy 

rest : 20 

'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed 
The morning dream that hovered o'er her 

head; 
A youth more glittering than a birth-night 

beau 
(That e'en in slumber caused her cheek to 

glow), 
Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay, 
And thus in whispers said, or seemed to 

say. 26 

/ * Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished 

care 
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! 
If e'er one vision touched thy infant 

thought, 
Of all the nurse and all the priest have 

taught 30 

Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen. 
The silver token, and the circled green, 
Or virgins visited by angel powers. 
With golden crowns and wreaths of 

heavenly flowers; 



Hear and believe ! thy own importance 

know, 35 

Nor bound thy narrow views to things 

below. 
Some secret truths, from learned pride 

concealed, 
To maids alone and children are revealed : 
What though no credit doubting wits may 

give? 
The fair and innocent shall still believe. 40 
Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee 

fly, 

The light militia of the lower sky: 

These, though unseen, are ever on the* wing, 

Liang o'er the box, and hover round the 

Ring, 
Think what an equipage thou hast in air, 45 
And view with scorn two pages and a chair. 
As now your own, our beings were of old. 
And once enclosed in woman's beauteous 

mould ; 
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair 
From earthly vehicles to these of air. so 
Think not, when woman's transient breath 

is fled. 
That all her vanities at once are dead; 
Succeeding vanities she still regards. 
And though she plays no more, o'erlooks 

the cards. 
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, 55 
And love of ombre, after death survive. 
For when the fair in all their pride expire, 
To their first elements their souls retire : 
The sprites of fiery termagants in flame 
Mount up, and take a salamander's name. 
Soft yielding minds to water glide away, 61 
And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. 
The graver prude sinks downward to a 

gnome, 
In search of mischief still on earth to roam. 
The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair, 65 
And sporf and flutter in the fields of air. 
' Know further yet ; whoever fair and 

chaste 
Rejects mankind, is by some sylph em- 
braced : 
For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with 

ease 
Assume what sexes and what shapes they 

please. 7° 

What guards the purity of melting maids. 
In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades, 
Safe from the treacherous friend, the 

daring spark. 
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark, 
When kind occasion prompts their warm 

desires, 75 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 



359 



When music softens, and when dancing 

fires? 
'T is but their sylph, the wise celestials 

know. 
Though honor is the word with men below. 
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of 

their face. 
For life predestined to the gnomes' em- 
brace. 80 
These swell their prospects and exalt their 

pride, 
When offers are disdained, and love denied : 
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain, 
While peers, and dukes, and all their sweep- 
ing train, 
And garters, stars, and coronets appear, 8s 
And in soft sounds 'Your Grace' salutes 

their ear. 
'T is these that early taint the female soul. 
Instruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll, 
Teach infant cheeks a bidden blush to 

know. 
And little hearts to flutter at a beau. 9o 

' Oft, when the world imagine women 

stray, 
The sylphs through mystic mazes guide 

their way. 
Through all the giddy circle they pursue. 
And old impertinence expel by new. 
What tender maid but must a victim fall 95 
To one man's treat, but for another's ball? 
When Florio speaks, what virgin could 

withstand. 
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand? 
With varying vanities, from every part. 
They shift the moving toyshop of their 

heart; 100 

Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots 

sword-knots strive, 
Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches 

drive. 
This erring mortals levity may call ; 
Oh, blind to truth ! the sylphs contrive it 

all. 104 

'Of these am I, who thy protection claim, 
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. 
Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air. 
In the clear mirror of thy ruling star 
I saw, alas ! some dread event impend. 
Ere to the main this morning sun descend. 
But Heaven reveals not what, or how, or 

where: m 

Warned by the sylph, O pious maid, 

beware ! 
This to disclose is all thy guardian can : 
Beware of all, but most beware of man ! ' 
He said ; when Shock, who thought she 

slept too long, 



Leaped up, and waked his mistress with his 

tongue. 116 

'T was then, Belinda, if report say true. 
Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; 
Wounds, charms, and ardors were no 

sooner read, 
But all the vision vanished from thy head. 
And now, unveiled, the toilet stands dis- 
played, 121 
Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 
First, robed in white, the nymph intent 

adores. 
With head uncovered, the cosmetic powers. 
A heavenly image in the glass appears, i^s 
To that she bends, to that her eyes she 

rears ; 
The inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. 
Unnumbered treasures ope at once, and here 
The various offerings of the world appear; 
From each she nicely culls with curious 

toil, 131 

And decks the goddess with the glittering 

spoil. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
The tortoise here and elephant unite, i3S 
Transformed to combs, the speckled, and 

the white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows, 
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux. 
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; 
The fair each moment rises in her charms. 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace. 
And calls forth all the wonders of her 

face ; 142 

Sees by degrees a purer blush arise. 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
The busy sylphs surround their darling 

care, 145 

These set the head, and those divide the 

hair. 
Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait 

the gown ; 
And Betty's praised for labors not her own. 



CANTO II 

Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain. 
The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, 
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams 
Launched on the bosom of the silver 

Thames. 
Fair nymphs, and well-dressed youths 

around her shone, s 

But every eye was fixed on her alone. 



36o 



ALEXANDER POPE 



On her white breast a sparkling cross she 

wore, 
Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. 
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, 
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those ; 
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends ; 
Oft she rejects, but never once offends. 
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, 
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. 
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of 
pride, ^s 

Might hide her faults, if belles had faults 

to hide ; 
If to her share some female errors fall, 
Look on her face, and you '11 forget 'em all. 
This nymph, to the destruction of man- 
kind, 
Nourished two locks, which graceful hung 
behind 2° 

In. equal curls, and well conspired to deck 
With shining ringlets the smooth ivory 

neck. 
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, 
And mighty hearts are held in slender 

chains. 
With hairy springes, we the birds betray, 23 
Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, 
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare, 
And beauty draws us with a single hair. 
The adventurous baron the bright locks 
admired ; 
He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired. 
Resolved to win, he meditates the way, 3i 
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray ; 
For when success a lover's toil attends, 
Few ask, if fraud or force attained his 
ends. 
For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had im- 
plored 35 
Propitious Heaven, and every power adored, 
But chiefly Love — to Love an altar built. 
Of twelve vast French romances, neatly 

gilt. 
There lay three garters, half a pair of 

gloves ; 
And all the trophies of his former loves; 40 
With tender billets-doux he lights the pyre. 
And breathes three amorous sighs to raise 

the fire. 
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent 

eyes 

Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize: 

The powers gave ear, and granted half his 

prayer, 45 

The rest, the winds dispersed in empty air. 

But now secure the painted vessel glides, 

The sunbeams trembling on the floating 

tides ; 



While melting music steals upon the sky, 
And softened sounds along the waters die; 
Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently 
play, • 5t 

Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. 
All but the sylph — with careful thoughts 

oppressed. 
The impending woe sat heavy on his breast. 
He summons straight his denizens of air;SS 
The lucid squadrons round the sails repair : 
Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers 

breathe. 
That seemed but zephyrs to the train be- 
neath. 
Some to the sun their insect wings imfold, 
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of 
gold ; 60 

Transparent forms, too fine for mortal 

sight, 
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light. 
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, 
Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew, 
Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, 65 
Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes, 
While every beam new transient colors 

flings. 
Colors that change whene'er they wave their 

wings. 
Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, 
Superior by the head, was Ariel placed ; 7° 
His purple pinions opening to the sun. 
He raised his azure wand, and thus begun. 
* Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief 
give ear ! 
Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hear ! 
Ye know the spheres, and various tasks 
assigned 75 

By laws eternal to the aerial kind. 
Some in the fields of purest ether play, 
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day. 
Some guide the course of wandering orbs 

on high. 
Or roll the planets through the boundless 
sky. 80 

Some less refined, beneath the moon's pale 

light 
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the 

night, 
Or suck the mists in grosser air below, 
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow. 
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, 
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain. 86 
Others on earth o'er human race preside, 
Watch all their ways, and all their actions 

guide : 
Of these the chief, the care of nations own, 
And guard with arms divine the British 
throne. 90 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 



361 



' Our humbler province is to tend the fair. 

Not a less pleasing, though less glorious 
care; 

To save the powder from too rude a gale, 

Nor let the imprisoned essences exhale ; 

To draw fresh colors from the vernal 
flowers; 93 

To steal from rainbows ere they drop in 
showers, 

A brighter wash ; to curl their waving hairs, 

Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs ; 

Nay, oft in dreams, invention we bestow, 

To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. 1°° 
' This day, black omens threat the bright- 
est fair 

That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care ; 

Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight ; 

But what, or where, the fates have wrapped 
in night. 

Whether the nymph shall break Diana's 
law, 103 

Or some frail china jar receive a flaw; 

Or stain her honor, or her new brocade ; 

Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade; 

Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball ; 

Or whether Heaven has doomed that Shock 
must fall. 110 

Haste, then, ye spirits ! to your charge 
repair; 

The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care ; 

The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign ; 

And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine; 

Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favorite lock; 

Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. 
' To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note. 

We trust the important charge, the petti- 
coat: 

Oft have we known that seven-fold fence 
to fail. 

Though stiff with hoops, and armed with 
ribs of whale; i^o 

Form a strong line about the silver bound. 

And guard the wide circumference around, 
' Whatever spirit, careless of his charge. 

His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, 

Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his 
sins, 125 

Be stopped in vials, or transfixed with pins; 

Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie. 

Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin's eye: 

Gums and pomatums shall his flight re- 
strain. 

While clogged he beats his silken wings in 
vain; 130 

Or alum styptics with contracting power 

Shrink his thin essence like a rivelled 
flower: 

Or, as Ixjon fixed, the wretch shall feel 



The giddy motion of the whirling mill, 134 

In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow. 

And tremble at the sea that froths below ! ' 
He spoke; the spirits from the sails de- 
scend ; 

Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; 

Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair; 

Some hang upon the pendants of her ear; 

With beating hearts the dire event they 
wait, 141 

Anxious, and trembling for the birth of 
fate. 

CANTO HI 

Close by those meads, for ever crowned 

with flowers. 
Where Thames with pride surveys his ris- 

mg towers, 
There stands a structure of majestic frame. 
Which from the neighboring Hampton 

takes its name. 
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall fore- 
doom s 
Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home; 
Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms 

obey, 
Dost sometimes counsel take — and some- 
times tea. 
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort. 
To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; i» 
In various talk the instructive hours they 

passed. 
Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; 
One speaks the glory of the British queen. 
And one describes a charming Indian 

screen ; 
A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; 
At every word a reputation dies. 16 

Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of 

chat, 
With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. 
Meanwhile, declining from the noon of 

day, 
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray; 
The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, 
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine; 
The merchant from the Exchange returns 

in peace, 
And the long labors of the toilet cease. 24 
Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites. 
Burns to encounter two adventurous 

knights. 
At ombre singly to decide their doom ; 
And swells her breast with conquests yet 

to come. 
Straight the three bands prepare in arms 

to join, 



362 



ALEXANDER POPE 



Each band the number of the sacred nine. 3° 
Soon as she spreads her hand, the aerial 

guard 
Descend, and sit on each important card: 
First, Ariel perched upon a Matadore, 
Then each, according to the rank they bore ; 
For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient 



race, 



35 



Are, as when women, wondrous fond of 

place. 
Behold, four kings in majesty revered, 
With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; 
And four fair queens whose hands sustain 

a flower. 
The expressive emblem of their softer 

power ; 4o 

Four knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty 

band. 
Caps on their heads, and halberts in their 

hand ; 
And parti-colored troops, a shining train, 
Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. 
The skillful nymph reviews her force with 

care : 45 

Let spades be trumps! she said, and trumps 

they were. 
Now moved to war her sable Matadores, 
In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. 
Spadillio first, unconquerable lord ! 
Led off two captive trumps, and swept the 

board. so 

As many more Manillio forced to yield, 
And marched a victor from the verdant 

field. 
Him Basto followed, but his fate more hard 
Gained but one trump and one plebeian 

card. 
With his broad saber next, a chief in years, 
The hoary majesty of spades appears, 56 
Puts forth one manly leg, to sight revealed, 
The rest, his many-colored robe concealed. 
The rebel knave, who dares his prince en- 
gage. 
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. 60 
Even mighty Pam, that kings and queens 

o'erthrew, 
And mowed down armies in the fights of 

Loo, 
Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid. 
Falls undistinguished by the victor spade! 

Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; 65 
Now to the baron fate inclines the field. 
His warlike Amazon her host invades. 
The imperial consort of the crown of 

spades, 
The club's black tyrant first her victim died, 
Spite of his haughty mien, and barbarous 

pride : 7° 



What boots the regal circle on his head. 
His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread ; 
That long behind he trails his pompous 

robe. 
And, of all monarchs only grasps the globe? 
The baron now his diamonds pours apace; 
The embroidered king who shows but half 
his face, 1^ 

And his refulgent queen, with powers com- 
bined. 
Of broken troops an easy conquest find. 
Clubs, diamonds, hearts, in wild disorder 

seen. 
With throngs promiscuous strew the level 
green. ^° 

Thus when dispersed a routed army runs. 
Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons, 
With like confusion different nations fly, 
Of various habit, and of various dye. 
The pierced battalions disunited fall, 83 

In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms 
them all. 
The knave of diamonds tries his wily arts, 
And wins (oh, shameful chance!) the queen 

of hearts. 
At this the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, 
A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look ; 
She sees, and trembles at the approaching 
ill, 91 

Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. 
And now (as oft in some distempered state) 
On one nice trick depends the general fate, 
An ace of hearts steps forth; the king- un- 
seen 95 
Lurked in her hand, and mourned his cap- 
tive queen : 
He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, 
And falls like thunder on the prostrate ace. 
The nymph exulting fills with shouts the 

sky; 

The walls, the wood, and long canals reply. 

Oh, thoughtless mortals! ever blind to 

fate, »°^ 

Too soon dejected, and too soon elate. 

Sudden, these honors shall be snatched 

away. 
And cursed for ever this victorious day. 
For lo! the board with cups and spoons 
is crowned, ^°5 

The berries crackle, and the mill turns 

round ; 
On shining altars of Japan they raise 
The silver lamp; the- fiery spirits blaze: 
From silver spouts the grateful liquors 

glide, 
While China's earth receives the smoking 
tide: "» 

At once they gratify their scent and taste, 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 



363 



And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. 
Straight hover round the fair her airy band ; 
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor 

fanned, 
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes dis- 
played, IIS 
Trembling, and conscious of the rich bro- 
cade. 
Coffee (which makes the politician wise. 
And see through all things with his half- 
shut eyes) 
Sent up in vapors to the baron's brain 
-New stratagems the radiant lock to gain. 120 
Ah, cease, rash youth ! desist ere 't is too 

late, 
Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's 

fate! 
Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, 
She dearly pays for Nisus' injured hair! 
But when to mischief mortals bend their 
will, I2S 

How soon they find fit instruments of ill ! 
Just then Clarissa drew with tempting grace 
A two-edged weapon from her shining case : 
So ladies in romance assist their knight. 
Present the spear, and arm him for the 
fight. 130 

He takes the gift with reverence, and ex- 
tends 
The little engine on his finger's ends ; 
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, 
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her 

head. 
Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, 
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the 
hair; 136 

And thrice they twitched the diamond in 

her ear; 
Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe 

drew near. 
Just in that instant, anxious. Ariel sought 
The close recesses of the virgin's thought; 
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined. 
He watched the ideas rising in her mind. 
Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art. 
An earthly lover lurking at her heart. 
Amazed, confused, he found his power ex- 
pired, ^45 
Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired. 
The peer now spreads the glittering for- 
fex wide. 
To inclose the lock; now joins it, to divide. 
Even then, before the fatal engine closed, 
A wretched sylph too fondly interposed ; 
Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in 
twain, 151 
(But airy substance soon unites again) 
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever 



From the fair head, for ever, and for ever! 
Then flashed the living lightning from her 

eyes, iss 

And screams of horror rend the affrighted 

skies. 
Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are 

cast. 
When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe 

their last; 
Or when rich China vessels, fallen from 

high. 
In glittering dust and painted fragments 

lie! 160 

' Let wreaths of triumph now my temples 

twine,' 
(The victor cried,) 'the glorious prize is 

mine ! ' 
While fish in streams, or birds delight in 

air. 
Or in a coach and six the British fair, 
As long as Atalantis shall be read, 163 

Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed, 
While visits shall be paid on solemn days. 
When numerous wax-lights in bright order 

blaze. 
While nymphs take treats, or assignations 

give. 
So long my honor, name, and praise shall 

live! 170 

What Time would spare, from steel receives 

its date. 
And monuments, like men, submit to fate ! 
Steel could the labor of the gods destroy. 
And strike to dust the imperial towers of 

Troy ; 
Steel could the works of mortal pride con- 
found, 175 
And hew triumphal arches to the ground. 
What wonder then, fair nymph ! thy hairs 

should feel 
The conquering force of unresisted steel ? ' 



CANTO IV 

But anxious cares the pensive nymph op- 
pressed. 
And secret passions labored in her breast. 
Not youthful kings in hattle seized alive, 
Not scornful virgins who their charms sur- 
vive. 
Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, S 
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, 
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die. 
Not Cynthia when her manteau 's pinned 

awry. 
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, 



3^4 



ALEXANDER POPE 



As thou, sad virgin, for thy ravished hair, lo 
For, that sad moment, when the sylphs 

withdrew 
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, 
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, 
As ever sullied the fair face of light, 
Down to the central earth, his proper 

scene, is 

Repaired to search the gloomy cave of 

Spleen. 
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, 
And in a vapor reached the dismal dome. 
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows. 
The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 
Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air, 21 
And screened in shades from day's detested 

glare. 
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, 
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 
Two handmaids wait the throne, alike in 

place, 25 

But differing far in figure and in face. 
Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid. 
Her wrinkled form in black and white 

arrayed ; 
With store of prayers, for mornings, nights, 

and noons. 
Her hand is filled; her bosom with lam- 
poons. 30 
There Affectation, with a sickly mien, 
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen. 
Practiced to lisp, and hang the head aside. 
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride. 
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe. 
Wrapped in a gown, for sickness, and for 

show. 36 

The fair ones feel such maladies as these, 
When each new night-dress gives a new dis- 
ease. 
A constant vapor o'er the palace flies ; 
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise; 
Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted 

shades, 41 

Oi bright, as visions of expiring maids. 
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling 

spires. 
Pale specters, gaping tombs, and purple 

fires: 
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, 45 
And crystal domes, and angels in machines. 
Unnumbered throngs on every side are 

seen, 
Of bodies changed to various forms by 

Spleen. 
Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out, 
One bent ; the handle this, and that the 

spout : 50 

A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks; 



Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie 

talks ; 
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy 

works. 
And maids, turned bottles, call aloud for 

corks. 
Safe past the gnome through this fantastic 

band, ss 

A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. 
Then thus addressed the power : ' Hail, way- 
ward queen ! 
Who rule the sex, to fifty from fifteen: 
Parent of vapors and of female wit, 
Who give the hysteric, or poetic fit, 60 

On various tempers act by various ways, 
Make some take physic, others scribble 

plays ; 
Who cause the proud their visits to delay. 
And send the godly in a pet to pray. 
A nymph there is, that all thy power dis- 
dains, 6s 
And thousands more in equal mirth main- 
tains. 
But oh I if e'er thy gnome could spoil a 

grace, 
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face. 
Like citron-waters matrons* cheeks inflame, 
Or change complexions at a losing game; 70 
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, 
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, 
Or caused suspicion when no soul was 

rude, 
Or discomposed the head-dress of a prude, 
Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease, 75 
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could 

ease : 
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin, 
That single act gives half the world the 

spleen.' 
The goddess with a discontented air 
Seems to reject him, though she grants his 

prayer. 80 

A wondrous bag with both her hands she 

binds. 
Like that where once Ulysses held the 

winds ; 
There she collects the force of female lungs, 
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of 

tongues. 
A vial next she fills with fainting fears, §5 
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing 

tears. 
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, 
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts 

to day. 
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he 

found, 
Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. 9° 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 



36s 



Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he 

rent, 
And all the furies issued at the vent. 
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, 
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 
' O wretched maid ! ' she spread her hands, 

and cried, 95 

(While Hampton's echoes, 'Wretched 

maid!' replied) 
* Was it for this you took such constant 

care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound. 
For this with torturing irons wreathed 

around ? 
For this with fillets strained your tender 

head, loi 

And bravely bore the double loads of lead? 
Gods ! shall the ravisher display your hair. 
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare ! 
Honor forbid ! at whose unrivalled shrine 105 
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 
Methinks already I your tears survey, 
Already hear the horrid things they say, 
Already see you a degraded toast, 
And all your honor in a whisper lost! no 
How shall I, then, your helpless fame de- 
fend? 
'T will then be infamy to seem your friend ! 
And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, 
And heightened by the diamond's circling 

rays, ns 

On that rapacious hand for ever blaze? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus 

grow. 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of 

Bow; 
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall. 
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish 

all ! ' 120 

She said; then raging to Sir Plume re- 
pairs, 
And bids her beau demand the precious 

hairs. 
(Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, 
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) 
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking 

face, 125 

He first the snuff-box opened, then the case, 
And thus broke out — ' My lord, why, what 

the devil? 
Z ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you 

must be civil ! 
Plague on't ! 'tis past a jest — nay prithee, 

pox! 
Give her the hair,' he spoke, and rapped his 

box. 130 



' It grieves me much,' replied the peer again, 
' Who speaks so well should ever speak in 

vain. 
But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, 
(Which never more shall join its parted 

hair; 
Which never more its honors shall renew. 
Clipped from the lovely head where late it 

grew) 136 

That while my nostrils draw the vital air. 
This hand, which won it, shall for ever 

wear.' 
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph 

spread 
The long-contended honors of her head. 
But Umbriel, hateful gnome ! forbears not 

so ; 141 

He breaks the vial whence the sorrows 

flow. 
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief ap- 
pears. 
Pier eyes half languishing, half drowned in 

tears ; 
On her heaved bosom hung her drooping 

head, MS 

Which, with a sigh, she raised ; and thus 

she said: 
' For ever cursed be this detested day, 
Which snatched my best, my favorite curl 

away! 
Happy! ah, ten tirries happy had I been. 
If Hampton Court these eyes had never 

seen! iso 

Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, 
By love of courts- to numerous ills betrayed. 
Oh, had I rather unadmired remained 
In some lone isle or distant northern land; 
Where the gilt chariot never marks the 

way. 
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste 

bohea! 156 

There kept my charms concealed from 

mortal eye. 
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die. 
What moved my mind with youthful lords 

to roam? 
Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at 

home! 160 

'T was this, the morning omens seemed to 

tell. 
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch- 
box fell; 
The tottering china shook without a wind. 
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most 

unkind ! 
A sylph, too, warned me of the threats of 

fate, 165 

In mystic visions, now believed too late! 



366 



ALEXANDER POPE 



See the poor remnants of these slighted 

hairs! 
Aly hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine 

spares; 
These in two sable ringlets taught to break, 
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; 
The sister lock now sits uncouth, alone, 171 
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; 
Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands. 
And tempts once more, thy sacrilegious 

hands. ]74 

Oh, hadst thou, cruel ! been content to seize 
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these ! ' 



CANTO V 

She said: the pitying audience melt in tears. 
But Fate and Jove had stopped the baron's 

ears. 
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails. 
For who can move when fair Belinda fails? 
Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain, 5 
While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. 
Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her 

fan ; 
Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began: 
* Say, why are beauties praised and 

honored most, 
The wise man's passion, and the vain man's 

toast? ^° 

Why decked with all that land and sea 

afford. 
Why angels called, and angel-like adored? 
Why round our coaches crowd the white- 
gloved beaux. 
Why bows the side-box from its inmost 

rows? 
How vain are all these glories, all our 

pains, IS 

Unless good sense preserve what beauty 

gains: 
That men may say, when we the front-box 

grace : 
' Behold the first in virtue as in face ! ' 
Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day. 
Charmed the smallpox, or chased old age 

away ; ^° 

Who would not scorn what housewife's 

cares produce. 
Or who would learn one earthly thing of 

use? 
To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint. 
Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. 
But since, alas ! frail beauty must decay, 25 
Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn 

to gray; 



Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, 

And she who scorns a man must die a 
maid ; 

What then remains but well our power to 
use. 

And keep good humor still whate'er we 
lose? 30 

And trust me, dear! good humor can pre- 
vail. 

When airs, and flights, and screams, and 
scolding fail. 

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; 

Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the 
soul.' 
So spoke the dame, but no applause en- 
sued ; 35 

Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her 
prude. 

' To arms, to arms ! ' the fierce virago cries, 

And swift as lightning to the combat flies. 

All side in parties, and begin th' attack; 

Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whale- 
bones crack; 4" 

Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly 
rise, 

And bass and treble voices strike the skies. 

No common weapons in their hands are 
found. 

Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal 
wound. 
So when bold Homer makes the gods en- 
gage, 43 

And heavenly breasts with human passions 
rage; 

'Gainst Pallas, Mars ; Latona, Hermes arms ; 

And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : 

Jove's thunder roars. Heaven trembles all 
around. 

Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps 
resound : so 

Earth shakes her nodding towers, the 
ground gives way. 

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of 
day! 
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height 

Clapped his glad wings, and sat to view the 
fight : 

Propped on their bodkin spears, the sprites 
survey 55 

The growing combat, or assist the fray. 
While through the press enraged Thales- 
tris flies, 

And scatters death around from both her 
eyes, 

A beau and witling perished in the throng, 

One died in metaphor, and one in song. 60 

' O' cruel nymph ! a living death I bear,' 

Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. 



THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 



367 



A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards 

cast, 
'Those eyes are made so killing' — was his 

last. 
Thus on Meander's flowery margin lies 65 
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. 
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa 

down, 
Chloe stepped in and killed him with a 

frown ; 
She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, 
But, at her smile, the beau revived again. 
Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, 
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's 

hair; 7^ 

The doubtful beam long nods from side to 

side ; 
At length the wits mount up, the hairs sub- 
side. 
See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, 75 
With more than usual lightning in her eyes: 
Nor feared the chief the unequal fight to 

try, 
Who sought no more than on his foe to 

die. 
But this bold lord with manly strength en- 
dued, 
She with one finger and a thumb subdued : 
Just where the breath of life his nostrils 

drew, ^^ 

A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; 
The gnomes direct, to every atom just. 
The pungent grains of titillating dust. 
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'er- 

flows, ^5 

And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. 
' Now meet thy fate,' incensed Belinda 

cried, 
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. 
(The same, his ancient personage to deck. 
Her great great grandsire wore about his 

neck, 90 

In three seal-rings; which after, melted 

down. 
Formed a vast buckle for his widow's 

gown: 
Her infant grandame's whistle next it 

grew, 
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; 
Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs. 
Which long she wore, and now Belinda 

wears.) 96 

'Boast not my fall,' he cried, 'insulting 

foe! 
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. 
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind: 
All that I dread is leaving you behind ! 100 
Rather than so, ah, let me still survive, 



And burn in Cupid's flames — but burn 

alive.' 
' Restore the lock ! ' she cries ; and all 

around 
'Restore the lock!' the vaulted roofs re- 
bound. 
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain los 
Roared for the handkerchief that caused 

his pain. 
But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed, 
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! 
The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with 

pain, 
In every place is sought, but sought in vain : 
With such a prize no mortal must be blessed. 
So Heaven decrees ! with Heaven who can 

contest? i'^ 

Some thought it mounted to the lunar 

sphere. 
Since all things lost on earth are treasured 

there. 
There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous 

vases, ' i'5 

And beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer 

cases. 
There broken vows and death-bed alms are 

found, 
And lovers' hearts with ends of riband 

bound, 
The courtier's promises, and sick man's 

prayers, i'9 

The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea. 
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. 
But trust the Muse — she saw it upward 

rise, 
Though marked by none but quick, poetic 

eyes : 
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens 

withdrew, i^S 

To Proculus alone confessed in view) 
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, 
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. 
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, 
The heavens bespangling with dishevelled 

light. 130 

The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies. 
And pleased pursue its progress through the 

skies. 
This the beau monde shall from the Mall 

survey. 
And hail with music its propitious ray. 
This the blest lover shall for Venus take, i3S 
And send up vows from Rosamonda's 

lake. 
This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless 

skies. 
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes; 



368 



ALEXANDER POPE 



And hence the egregious wizard shall fore- 
doom 
The fate of Louis and the fall of Rome. 140 
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy 

ravished hair, 
Which adds new glory to the shining 

sphere ! 
Not all the tresses that fair head can boast, 
Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost. 
For, after all the murders of your eye, i4S 
When, after millions slain, yourself shall 

die: 
When those fair suns shall set, as set they 

must, 
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, 
This lock, the Muse shall consecrate to 

fame. 
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's 

name. 'So 

(1712, 1714) 



From EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT 

Why did I write? what sin to me un- 
known 
(Dipped me in ink, my parents', or my own? 
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame, 
I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. 
I left no calling for this idle trade, 5 

J No duty broke, no father disobeyed. 
I The Muse but served to ease some friend, 
not wife. 
To help me through this long disease, my 

life. 
To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care. 
And teach the being you preserved, to 
bear. ... J° 

Soft were my numbers ; who could take 
offense 
While pure description held the place of 

sense? 
Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme, 
A painted mistress, or a purling stream. '4 
Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill ; — 
I wished the man a dinner, and sat still. 
Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret; 
I never answered — I was not in debt. 
If want provoked, or madness made them 

print, 
I waged no war with Bedlam or the Mint. 20 
Did some more sober critic come abroad. 
If wrong, I smiled ; if right, I kissed the 
rod. 



Were others angry : I excused them too ; 
Well might they rase, I gave them but thei/ 
due. 



A man's true merit 't is not hard to find ; 25 
But each man's secret standard in his mind, 
That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, 
This, who can gratify? for who can guess? 
The bard whom pilfered Pastorals renown, 
Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown, 
Just writes to make his barrenness appear, 
And strains from hard-bound brains, eight 

lines a year; 32 

He, who still wanting, though he lives on 

theft. 
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing 

left: 
And he, who now to sense, now nonsense 

leaning, 35 

Means not, but blunders round about a 

meaning : 
And he, whose fustian 's so sublimely bad, 
It is not poetry, but prose run mad : 
All these, my modest satire bade translate. 
And owned that nine such poets made a 

Tate. 40 

How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, 

and chafe! 
And swear, not Addison himself was safe. 
Peace to all such ! but were there one 

whose fires 
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; 
Blessed with each talent and each art to 

please, 45 

And born to write, converse, and live with 

ease: 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the 

throne. 
View him with scornful, y^t with jealous 

eyes. 
And hate for arts that caused himself to 

rise ; so 

Damn with faint praise, assent with civil 

leer, 
And without sneering, teach the rest to 

sneer; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike, 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike; 
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, SS 
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged; 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause; 60 
While wits and Templars every sentence 

raise, 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 
Who but must laugh, if such a man there 

be^ 
I Who would not weep, if Atticus were he! 

t :k ;); :«: 

«J735) 



JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) 

Thomson was a Scotchman who, at the height of Pope's reign, went to seek his fortune in 
literary London. He arrived in need of a pair of shoes and lost the packet of recommenda- 
tions which he had tied up in his handkerchief ; but he was kindly received by his brother 
poets, and enjoyed sufficient patronage from the rich to preserve him from actual want. 
The four parts of The Seasons which appeared in rapid succession (1726-30) made his 
I'eputation, and a series of stiff tragedies in blank verse had a lukewarm success on the 
stage. Politically, he adhered to the opposition and was one of a gi'oup, including the 
poet Collins, which gathered around Lord Lyttleton at Hagley, under the ' precarious 
patronage ' of Frederick, Prince of Wales. Thomson was an indolent man ' more fat than 
bard beseems,' luxurious and procrastinating, and the last fifteen years of his life originated 
little that was important. The Castle of Indolence, which commemorates the Hagley com- 
pany, was begun in 1733, though not completed until two years before his death. Dull in 
unfamiliar society, Thomson was loyally and deeply beloved by those who intimately knew 
him. His warm and truthful delineations of nature and his resource in the older harmonies 
of English verse helped to inaugurate a new era in poetry. Notwithstanding these tendencies, 
Pope regarded him with respect and favor. In the next generation. Dr. Johnson abated his 
prejudice against blank verse in favor of The Seasons, and forgot his hostility to Spenserism 
in commenting on The Castle of Indolence. ' He thinks always as a man of genius ; he 
looks round on Nature and on Life with the eye which Nature bestows only on a poet,' was 
Johnson's summary of his abilities. 



From SUMMER 

Low walks the sun, and broadens by de- 
grees. 

Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting 
clouds 

Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train, 

In all their pomp attend his setting throne. 

Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And 
now, s 

As if his weary chariot sought the bowers 

Of Amphitrite, and her tending nymphs — 

So Grecian fable sung — he dips his orb; 

Now half immersed; and now a golden 
curve 

•Gives one bright glance, then total disap- 
pears. * * * ,10 

Confessed from yonder slow-extinguished 

clouds, 
All ether softening, sober evening takes 
Her wonted station in the middle air; 
A thousand shadows at her beck. First this 
She sends on earth ; then that of deeper 

dye 'S 

Steals soft behind ; and then a deeper still. 
In circle following circle, gathers round, 
To close the face of things. A fresher gale 



Begins to wave the wood, and stir the 

stream, 
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of 

corn : 20 

While the quail clamors for his running 

mate. 
Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the 

breeze, 
A whitening shower of vegetable down 
Amusive floats. The kind impartial care 
Of nature nought disdains: thoughtful to 

feed 25 

Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming 

year. 
From field to field the feathered seeds she 

wings. 
His folded flock secure, the shepherd 

home 
Hies merry-hearted; and by turns relieves 
The ruddy milkmaid of her brimming pail ; 
The beauty whom pfrhaps his witless 

heart— 3i 

Unknowing what the Joy-tnixed anguish 

means — 
Sincerely loves, by that best language shewn 
Of cordial glances, anci obliging deeds. 
Onward they pass o'er many a panting 

height, 35 

369 



370 



JAMES THOMSON 



And valley sunk, and unfrequented; where 
At fall of eve the fairy people throng, 
In various game and revelry, to pass 
The summer night, as village stories tell. 
But far about they wander from the grave 4° 
Of him whom his ungentle fortune urged 
Against his own sad breast to lift the hand 
Of impious violence. The lonely tower 
Is also shunned; whose mournful chambers 

hold — 
So night-struck fancy dreams — the yelling 

ghost. 45 

Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, 

The glowworm lights his gem; and through 

the dark 
A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields 
The world to night; not in her winter robe 
Of massy Stygian woof, but loose arrayed so 
In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, 
Qanced from the imperfect surfaces of 

things. 
Flings half an image on the straining eye; 
While wavering woods, and villages, and 

streams, 
And rocks, and mountain-tops, that long re- 
tained 55 
The ascending gleam, are all one swimming 

scene. 
Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven 
Thence weary vision turns; where, leading 

soft 
The silent hours of love, with purest ray 
Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial 



rise. 



6o 



When daylight sickens till it springs afresh, 

Unrivaled reigns, the fairest lamp of night. 

* * * 

(1727) 



From AUTUMN 

But see the fading many-colored woods, 
Shade deepening over shade, the country 

round 
Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage dusk and dun, 
Of every hue, from wan declining green 
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome 

muse, 5 

Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strewn 

walks. 
And give the season in its latest view. 
Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober 

calm 
Fleeces unbounded ether : whose least wave 
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 'o 
The gentle current: while illumined wide. 
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 



And through their lucid veil his softened 

force 
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the 

time, 
For those whom virtue and whom nature 

charm, is 

To steal themselves from the degenerate 

crowd, 
And soar above this little scene of things : 
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their 

feet; 
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace; 
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks. 20 

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise. 
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, 
And through the saddened grove, where 

scarce is heard 
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's 

toil. 
Haply some widowed songster pours his 

plaint, 25 

Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny 

copse ; 
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larKS, 
And each wild throat, whose artless strains 

so late 
Swelled all the music of the swarming 

shades. 
Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shiver- 
ing sit 30 
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock: 
With not a brightness waving o'er their 

plumes, 
And naught save chattering discord in their 

note. 
O let not, aimed from some inhuman eye. 
The gun the music of the coming year 3S 
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, 
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey 
In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground ! 
The pale descending year, yet pleasing 

still, 
A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 40 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove; 
Oft startling such as studious walk below. 
And. slowly circles through the waving air. 
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams; 
Till choked, and matted with the dreary 

shower, 46 

The forest walks, at every rising gale, 
Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle 

bleak. 
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; 
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery 

race so 

Their sunny robes resign. E'en what re^ 

mained 



WINTER 



371 



Of stronger fruits falls from the naked 

tree ; 
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards all 

around, 
The desolated prospect thrills the soul. . . . 
The western sun withdraws the shortened 
day, ' ss 

And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky. 
In her chill progress, to the ground con- 
densed 
The vapor throws. Where creeping waters 

ooze, 
Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers 

wind, 
Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along 60 
The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the 

moon, 
Full orbed, and breaking through the scat- 
tered clouds. 
Shews her broad visage in the crimsoned 

east. 
Turned to the sun direct her spotted disk, 
Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales de- 
scend, 65 
And caverns deep as optic tube descries, 
A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again. 
Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day. 
Now through the passing clouds she seems 

to stoop. 
Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. 7o 
Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming 

mild 
O'er the skied mountain to the shadowy 

vale. 
While rocks and floods reflect the quivering 

gleam ; 
The whole air whitens with a boundless tide 
Of silver radiance trembling round the 
world, 7s 



(1730) 



From WINTER 



Through the hushed air the whitening 

shower descends, 
At first thin-wavering, till at last the flakes 
Fall broad, and wide, and fast, dimming the 

day 
With a continual flow. The cherished fields 
Put on their winter robe of purest white : 5 
'Tis brightness all, save where the new 

snow melts 
Along the mazy current. Low the woods 
Bow their hoar head ; and ere the languid 

sun 
Faint from the west, einits his evening ray; 
Earth's universal face, deen hid, and chill, 10 



Is one wide dazzling waste, that buries wide 
The works of man. Drooping, the laborer- 
ox 
Stands covered o'er with snow, and then 

demands 
The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of 

heaven. 
Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around is 
The winnowing store, and claim the little 

boon 
Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 
The redbreast, sacred to the household gods, 
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, 
In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves 
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted 
man 21 

His annual visit. Half-afraid, he first 
Against the window beats; then, brisk, 

alights 
On the warm hearth; then hopping o'er the 

floor. 
Eyes all the smiling family askance, 2s 

And pecks, and starts, and wonders where 

he is : 
Till more familiar grown, the table crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. The foodless 

wilds 
Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The 

hare. 
Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 
By death in various forms, dark snares and 
dogs, 31 

And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, 
Urged on by fearless want. The bleating 

kine 
Eye the bleak heaven, and next, the glisten- 
ing earth. 
With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dis- 
persed, 3S 
Dig for the withered herb through heaps of 
snow. * * * 
As thus the snows arise, and foul and 
fierce 
All winter drives along the darkened air. 
In his own loose revolving fields the swain 
Disastered stands; sees other hills ascend, 40 
Of unknown joyless brow, and other scenes, 
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain; 
Nor finds the river nor the forest, hid 
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on 
From hill to dale, still more and more 
astray, 45 
Impatient flouncing through the drifted 

heaps, 
Stung with the thoughts of home; the 

thoughts of home 
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor 
forth 



372 



JAMES THOMSON 



In many a vain attempt. How sinks his 

soul ! 
What black despair, what horror, fills his 

heart ! so 

When for the dusky spot which fancy 

feigned, 
His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 
He meets the roughness of the middle waste. 
Far from the track and blessed abode of 

man ; 
While round him night resistless closes 

fast, 55 

And every tempest howling o'er his head. 
Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 
Then throng the busy shapes into his mind, 
Of covered pits, tinfathomably deep, 
A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ; 
Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge 6i 

Smoothed up with snow; and what is land 

unknown, 
What water of the still unfrozen spring, 
In the loose marsh or solitary lake. 
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom 

boils. 6s 

These check his fearful steps, and down he 

sinks 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 
Mixed with the tender anguish nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, 
His wife, his children, and his friends, un- 
seen. 71 
In vain for him the officious wife prepares 
The fire fair blazing, and the vestment 

warm : 
In vain his little children, peeping out 
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire 
With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 76 
Nor wife nor children more shall he behold, 
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every 

nerve 
The deadly winter seizes, shuts up sense. 
And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 8o 
Lays him along the snows a stififened corse, 
Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern 

blast. 

* * * 

(1726) 

A HYMN 

These, as they change, Almighty Father, 

these, 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing 

Spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 



Wide-flush the fields; the softening air is 

balm ; s 

Echo the mountains round ; the forest 

smiles ; 
And every sense, and every heart is joy. 
Then comes thy glory in the summer- 
months. 
With light and heart refulgent. Then thjp 

sun 
Shoots full perfection through the swelling 

year: 10 

And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder 

speaks ; 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. 
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering 

gales. 
Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that 

lives. 'IS 

In winter awful thou ! with clouds and 

storms 
Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest 

roU'd 
Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing. 
Riding sublime, thou bidst the world adore. 
And humblest Nature with thy northern 

blast. 20 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force 

divine, 
Deepfelt, in these appear ! a simple train. 
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art. 
Such beauty and beneficence combined : ^4 
Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole; 
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious 

gaze, 
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty 

hand. 
That, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, 

thence 31 

The fair profusion that o'erspreads the 

spring : 
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; 
Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest 

forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change re- 
volves, 35 
With transport touches all the springs of 

life. 

Nature, attend! join every living soul, 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
In adoration join; and ardent raise 
One general song! To him, ye vocal gales 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE 



373 



Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness 

breathes. 4i 

Oh, talk of him in solitary glooms, 
Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving 

pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe, 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 4S 
Who shake the astonished world, lift high 

to heaven 
The impetuous song, and say from whom 

you rage. 
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling 

rills ; 
And let me catch it as I muse along. 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, sa 
A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater 

voice 
Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall. 
So roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and 

flowers, sS 

In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts. 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose' 

pencil paints. 
Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's 

heart, 60 

As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth 

asleep 
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams ; 
Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 63 
Great source of day ! blest image here be- 
low 
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. 
From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
On nature write with every beam his praise, 
The thunder rolls : be hushed the prostrate 

world, 70 

While cloud to cloud returns the "solemn 

hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks. 
Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low, 
Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd 

reigns. 
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 
Ye woodlands, all awake ; a boundless song 
Burst from the groves ; and when the rest- 
less day, n 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep. 
Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 
The listening shades, and teach the night 

his praise. 80 

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation 

smiles; 



At once the head, the heart, the tongue of 

all. 
Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities 

vast. 
Assembled men to the deep organ join 
The long resounding voice, oft breaking 

clear, 85 

At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
Or if you rather choose the rural shade, 
And find a fame in every sacred grove, 9° 
There let the shepherd's lute, the virgin's 

lay, 
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 
Still sing the God of seasons as they roll. 
For me, when I forget the darling theme. 
Whether the blossom blows, the Summer 

ray 9S 

Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams. 
Or Winter rises in the blackening east — 
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no 

more. 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat. 
Should fate command me to the furthest 

verge 100 

Of the green earth, to distant barbarous 

climes. 
Rivers unknown to song; where first the 

sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles, 't is nought to 

me ; 
Since God is ever present, ever felt, io5 
In the void waste as in the city full ; 
And where he vital breathes, there must be 

joy. 
When even at last the solemn hour shall 

come. 
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 
I cheerful will obey; there with new -pow- 
ers, no 
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go 
Where universal love not smiles around, 
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns; 
From seeming evil still educing good. 
And better thence again, and better still, "5 
In mfinite progression. But I lose 
Myself in him, in light ineffable! - 
Come, then, expressive silence, muse his 

praise. (1730) 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE, Book I 

O mortal man, who livest here by toil, 
Do not complain of this thy hard estate ; 
That like an emmet thou must ever moil, 



374 



JAMES THOMSON 



Is a sad sentence of an ancient date; 
And, certes, there is for it reason great; S 
For, though sometimes it makes thee 

weep and wail, 
And curse thy star, and early drudge and 

late, 
Withouten that would come a heavier bale, 
Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases 

pale. 

In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, 'o 
With woody hill o'er hill encompassed 

round, 
A most enchanting wizard did abide. 
Than whom a fiend more fell is nowhere 

found. 
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground: 
And there a season atween June and May, 
Half pranked with spring, with summer 

half imbrowned, ^^ 

A listless climate made, where, sooth to say. 

No living wight could work, ne cared ever 

for play. 

Was nought around but images of rest: 

Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns 
between ; ^° 

And flowery beds that slumberous influ- 
ence kest. 

From poppies breathed; and beds of pleas- 
ant green, 

Where never yet was creeping creature 
seen. 

Meantime unnumbered glittering stream- 
lets played. 

And hurled everywhere their waters 
sheen ; ^5 

That, as they bickered through the sunny 
glade, 
Though restless still themselves, a lulling 
=> murmur made. 

Joined to the prattle of the purling rills. 
Were heard the lowing herds along the 

vale, 
And flocks loud bleating from the distant 

hills, 30 

And vacant shepherds piping in the dale : 
And now and then sweet Philomel would 

wail. 
Or stock-doves 'plain amid the forest 

deep. 
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale; 
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep ; 
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to 

sleep. 36 

Full in the passage of the vale above, 
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood. 



Where nought but shadowy forms was 

seen to move, 
As Idlesse fancied in her dreaming mood: 
And up the hills, on either side, a wood 41 
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and 

fro. 
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the 

blood ; 
And where this valley winded out below, 
The murmuring main was heard, and 

scarcely heard, to flow. 45 

A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, 
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut 

eye: 
And of gay castles in the clouds that 

pass. 
For ever flushing round a summer sky: 
There eke the soft delights, that witch- 

ingly 50 

Instill a wanton sweetness through the 

breast. 
And the calm pleasures, always hovered 

nigh; 
But whate'er smacked of noyance or un- 
rest. 
Was far, far oflf expelled from this delicious 

nest. 



The doors, that knew no shrill alarming 
bell, 53 

Ne cursed knocker plied by villain's hand, 

Self-opened into halls, where, who can 
tell 

What elegance and grandeur wide ex- 
pand. 

The pride of Turkey and of Persia land? 

Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets 
spread, 60 

And couches stretched around in seemly 
band; 

And endless pillows rise to prop the head ; 
So that each spacious room was one full- 
swelling bed. 

And everywhere huge covered tables stood, 
With wines high flavored and rich viands 

crowned ; 65 

Whatever sprightly juice or tasteful food 
On the green bosom of this earth are 

found, 
And all old ocean genders in his round ; ' 
Some hand unseen these silently displayed, 
Even undemanded by a sign or sound ; 70 
You need but wish, and, instantly obeyed. 
Fair ranged the dishes rose, and thick the 

glasses played. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE 



375 



The rooms with costly tapestry were hung, 
Where was inwoven many a gentle tale ; 
Such as of old the rural poets sung, 75 
Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale : 
Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale, 
Poured forth at large the sweetly tortured 

heart ; 
Or, sighing tender passion, swelled the 

gale, 
And taught charmed echo to resound their 
smart ; 8° 

While flocks, woods, streams, around, re- 
pose and peace impart. 

Those pleased the most, where, by a cun- 
ning hand, 
Depainted was the patriarchal age ; 
What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee 

land. 
And pastured on from verdant stage to 

stage, . 85 

Where fields and fountains fresh could 

best engage. 
Toil w^as not then. Of nothing took they 

heed, 
But with wild beasts the sylvan war to 

wage. 
And o'er vast plains their herds and flocks 

to feed ; 
Blest sons of nature they ! true golden age 

indeed ! 90 



Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls, 

Bade the gay bloom of vernal landscapes 
rise, 

Or autumn's varied shades imbrown the 
walls ; 

Now the black tempest strikes the aston- 
ished eyes. 

Now down the steep the flashing torrent 
flies; 95 

The trembling sun now plays o'er ocean 
blue. 

And now rude mountains frown amid the 
skies ; 

Whate'er Lorraine light-touched with sof- 
tening hue. 
Or savage Rosa dashed, or learned Poussin 
drew. 

A certain music, never known before, 100 
Here lulled the pensive melancholy mind. 
Full easily obtained. Behoves no more. 
But sidelong, to the gently waving wind, 
To lay the well-tuned instrument reclined; 
From which with airy flying fingers light, 



Beyond each mortal touch the most re- 
fined, 106 

The god of winds drew sounds of deep 
delight ; 
Whence, with just cause, the harp of ^Eolus 
it hight. 

Ah me ! what hand can touch the string 
so fine? 

Who up the lofty diapason roll no 

Such sweet, such sad, such solemn airs 
divine. 

Then let them down again into the soul? 

Now rising love they fanned ; now pleas- 
ing dole 

They breathed, in tender musings, through 
the heart ; 

And now a graver sacred strain they 
stole, IIS 

As when seraphic hands a hymn impart : 
Wild warbling nature all, above the reach 
of art! 

Such the gay splendor, the luxurious state 
Of Caliphs old, who on the Tigris' shore, 
In mighty Bagdad, populous and great, 120 
Held their bright court, where was of 

ladies store; 
And verse, love, music, still the garland 

wore; 
When sleep was coy, the bard in waiting 

there 
Cheered the lone midnight with the muse's 

lore; 
Composing music bade his dreams be 
fair, I2S 

And music lent new gladness to the morn- 
ing air. 

Near the pavilions where we slept, still 

ran 
Soft tinkling streams, and dashing waters 

fell. 
And sobbing breezes sighed, and oft be- 
gan— 
So worked the wizard — wintry storms to 

swell, 130 

As heaven and earth they would together 

mell ; 
At doors and windows threatening seemed 

to call 
The demons of the tempest, growling fell, 
Yet the least entrance found they none at 

all; 
Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in 

massy hall. 135 

* * * 

(1748) 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 

Before the ' Augustan age ' of wit and common-sense had completed its course a departure 
from its precepts and fashions had begun. The complex of tendencies which gradually 
transformed literature in the course of the eighteenth century is usually referred to as 
' the romantic movement.' Some, however, prefer to conserve this term for a more re- 
stricted application to the revival of medievalism which was a part of the broader move- 
ment ; while still others prefer to think of these changes as the result of two related 
tendencies, ' the return to nature ' and ' the revival of the past.' The English genius 
could not long content itself with the equably ironic view of human fate which found 
expression in the essays of Addison, or with the jaunty commendations of God and 
the universe which capped Pope's essentially shallow and worldly philosophy. Even Pope's 
Essay on Man, it is worth while to notice, had been preceded by Thomson's Hymn on 
the iSeasons. Three-quarters of a century were to elapse before any first-rate mind 
should survey life with that comprehensive sympathy and penetrate it with that fresh, 
imaginative insight which marks the truly great and original poet. In the meantime the 
useful work of our ' age of prose and reason,' ' our excellent and indispensable eighteenth 
eentury,' was being done. Meantime, also, chiefly among men of second-rate and third- 
rate quality, we may detect evidences, stray and imperfect, of that ' longing to inquire 
into the mystery of this heart which beats so wild, so deep in us ' — which always under- 
lies literature of the finest power. Now, great literary changes are usually ' accompanied 
or heralded,' as Stevenson has phrased it, ' by a cast back to earlier and fresher models.' 
Thus, most of these minor writers were in some degree imitative. Discontented, first 
of all, with the subject-matter of poetry, Its restriction to what they deemed superficial 
and trivial in town life, they sought the fields and 'the mountain's rugged brow.' And, 
just as they became interested in the solitudes and the untamed aspects of Nature, so 
they became interested in wild and primitive, or in simple and rustic society, where the 
elementary impulses of men have freer play. Discontented, too, with the artificial diction 
and rhetoric and the restricted couplet verse of the Pope school, they ' cast back ' to the 
blank verse of Shakspere and Milton, to Milton's octo-syllabics, to the fluid stanza of 
Spenser, and to the free modulations of the old ballad stave. Emulating their models 
in subject, diction, rhythm, — • they caught at times something of their spirit. There is 
hardly one of these men of slighter power, thinly descriptive or heavily didactic as they 
frequently are, who does not at some point flash for a moment with the loveliness, or 
mystery, or melancholy, or boldness, or 'fine frenzy,' of the earlier masters, or the wilding 
songs of the folk. 

Edward Young, five years Pope's senior, an Oxford scholar of saturnine temper, a 
disappointed seeker after ' the bubble reputation,' first in the theater and then in the 
church, produced at three-score the poem for which he is remembered. The Complaint, 
or Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality, a didactic poem in ten thousand 
lines of blank verse, is still impressive for its nervous aphoristic force and somber mag- 
nificence of imagery and music. 

John Gay, the intimate friend of Swift and Pope, was a compliant creature of his age. 
His prime gift was for travesty and his greatest success in this kind, The Beggar's Opera, 
created a type. The Shepherd's Week was intended to burlesque the Pastorals then in 
vogue. 'But the effect of reality and truth became conspicuous,' says Johnson, ' even when 
the intention was to show them groveling and degraded.' 

Robert Blair was a Scotch minister. The Grave, in some eight hundred lines of blank 
verse, is an early example of the so-called ' grave-yard ' school of poetry. It is somewhat 
singular among the poems of its time and class, in that its diction and vei'sification suggest 
the influence of Elizabethan dramatic poets rather than that of Milton. 

John Dyer, a Welsh landscape painter, was also a landscape poet. His Grongar Hill was 
published the year of Thomson's Winter. Its likeness to Milton's L'Allegro is sufficiently 
j obvious. The Ruins of Rome (1740) and llie Fleece (1757) are didactico-descriptive 
j poems in blank verse, suggestive of Milton and Thomson. 

William Shenstone was a somewhat spiritless bachelor and recluse who amused himself 
with landscape-gardening on a small scale at the Leasowes, a modest estate adjoining Lord 

376 



EDWARD YOUNG 



zn 



Littleton's acres at Hagley. His poetry is tamely elegiac and pastoral. The Schoolmistress, 
his best known poem, is a Spenserian semi-burlesque. 

Mark Akeuside, a physician whom a youthful addiction to poetry did not prevent from 
rising high in his profession, published his Pleasures of Imagination in his twenty-third year. 
His Odes and Hymn to the Naiades appeared successively the two years following. Though 
too abstract and coldly elegant, his poems are impregnated with the manner of Milton and 
tinged with romantic aspiration. 

Somewhat like that of Akenside, but incomparably more exquisite, is the poetry of 
William Collins, — slight and fragile in everything except its hold on immortality. Collins' 
delicately cultivated mind was early obscured and he died in his thirty-eighth year, having 
written nothing for a decade. Lowell has said of his Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the 
Scottish Highlands, that it contained 'the whole Romantic School in its germ'; but his 
grace of spirit and the importunate loveliness of bis diction are seen in purest perfection in 
his shorter pieces. 

Thomas Warton, in his youth a friend of Thomson and Collins and, in later years, an 
admirer of Gray and a valued member of Johnson's club, spent most of his life at Oxford. 
He was an accomplished antiquarian, author of the first History of English Poetry, and a 
* pioneer of the medieval revival.' His verse shows the confluence of many romantic ele- 
ments but is too little original to be of much intrinsic value. 

Thomas Chatterton spent most of his few years at Bristol, where his ancestors had been, 
for a century and a half, sextons of St. Mary Redcliffe. In the ' muniment room ' of this 
church he pretended to have discovered the manuscripts of the poems which he gave to the 
world as those of a fifteenth century priest, Thomas Rowley. His forgeries were clever 
enough to impose upon Horace Walpole, though Gray readily detected the deception. In 
London, whither he had gone with the hope of living by his pen, the morbidly precocious 
boy took his own life at the age of seventeen years and nine months, flis strange hectic 
genius and the romantic tragedy of his death exercised a spell upon the poets of the next 
two generations. 



EDWARD YOUNG (1681-1765) 

From NIGHT THOUGHTS 

Tire d Nat ure's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! 
He, like the world, his ready visit pays 
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he for- 
sakes : 
Swift on his downy pinion flies from wo, 
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. 5 
From short (as usual) and disturbed re- 
pose 
I wake : how happy they who wake no more ! 
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the 

grave. 
I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams 
Tumultuous; where my wrecked desponding 
thought 10 

From wave to wave of fancied misery 
At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 
Though now restored, 't is only change of 

pain — 
A bitter change! — severer for severe: 
The day too short for my distress; and 
night, 15 

E'en in the zenith of her dark domain, 
Is sunshine to the color of my fate. 

Night, sable goddess; . from her ebon 
throne, 
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 



Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence how dead! and darkness how pro- 
found ! 21 
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds ; 
Creation sleeps. 'T is as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a 

pause ; 
An awful pause! prophetic of her end. 25 
And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled: 
Fate ! drop the curtain ; I can lose no more. 
Silence and Darkness ! solemn sisters ! 

twins 
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender 

thought 
To reason, and on reason build resolve — 30 
That column of true majesty in man — 
Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; 
The grave your kingdom: there this frame 

shall fall 
A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. 
But what are ye? 35 

Thou, who didst put to flight 
Primeval Silence, when the morning stars. 
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ; 
O Thou ! whose word from solid darkness 

struck 
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my 

soul ; 40 

My soul, which flies to thee, her trust, her 

treasure, 



378 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



As misers to their gold, while others rest. 

Through this opaque of nature and of 

soul, 

This double night, transmit one pitying ray, 

To lighten and to cheer. Oh, lead my 

mind — 45 

A mind that fain would wander from its 

wo — 
Lead it through various scenes of life and 

death, 
And from each scene the noblest truths in- 
spire. 
Nor less inspire my conduct than my song; 
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will 
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve 
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear: 
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, poured 
On this devoted head, be poured in vain. 
* * * 

This is the desert, this the solitude: 55 

How populous, how vital is the grave! 
This is creation's melancholy vault. 
The vale funereal, the sad cypress gloom; 
The land of apparitions, empty shades! 
All, all on earth, is shadow, all beyond 6o 
Is substance; the reverse is folly's creed; 
How solid all, where change shall be no 
more ! 

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
The twilight of our day, the vestibule; 
Life's theater as yet is shut, and death, 6s 
Strong death alone can heave the massy bar, 
This gross impediment of clay remove, 
And make us embryos of existence free 
From' real life; but little more remote 
Is he, not yet a candidate for light, _ 7o 

The future embryo, slumbering in his sire. 
Embryos we must be till we burst the shell, 
Yon ambient azure shell, and spring to life, 
The life of gods, O transport! and of man. 

Yet man, fool man! here buries all his 
thoughts ; 
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh. 
Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath 

moon. 
Here pinions all his wishes; winged 

heaven 
To fly at infinite : and reach it there 
Where seraphs gather immortality, 
On life's fair tree, fast by the throne 

God. 
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow 
In his full beam, and ripen for the just. 
Where momentary ages are no more! 
Where time, and pain, and chance, and 
death expire ! ^5 

And is it in the flight of threescore years 



75 

the 

by 

8o 

of 



To push eternity from human thought, 
And smother souls immortal in the dust? 
A soul immortal, spending all her fires. 
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, 
Thrown into tumult, raptured or alarmed, 9i 
At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
To waft a feather, or to drown a fly. 

* * * 



JOHN GAY (1685-1732) 

From THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK 

When fast asleep they Bowzybeus spy'd, 
Plis hat and oaken staff lay close beside. 
That Bowzybeus who could sweetly sing, 
Or with the rozin'd bow torment the string: 
That Bowzybeus who with finger's speed 5 
Could call soft warblings from the breath- 
ing reed ; 
That Bowzybeus who with jocound tongue, 
Ballads and roundelays and catches sung. 
They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, 
And in disport surround the drunken wight. 
Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so 

long? II 

The mugs were large, the drink was won- 

d'rous strong! 
Thou shouldst have left the fair before 

't was night, 
But thou sat'st toping 'till the morning 

light. 
Cic'ly, brisk maid, steps forth before the 

rout, 15 

And kiss'd with smacking lip the snoring 

lout. 
For custom says , ' Whoe'er this venture 

proves, 
For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves.' 
By her example Dorcas bolder grows, 
And plays a tickling straw within his nose. 
He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke 21 
The sneezing swains with stamm'ring speech 

bespoke. 
To you, my lads, I '11 sing my carols o'er, 
As for the maids — I've something else in 

store. ^4 

No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song, 

But lads and lasses round about him throng. 

Not ballad-singer plac'd above the crowd 

Sings with a note so thrilling sweet and 

loud. 
Nor parish-clerk who calls the psalm so 

clear. 



JOHN GAY 



379 



Like Bowzybeus sooths th' attentive ear. 30 

Of nature's laws his carols first begun, 
Why the grave owl can never face the sun. 
For owls, as swains observe, detest the 

light, 
And only sing and seek their prey by night. 
How turnips hide their swelling heads be- 
low, 35 
And how the closing colworts upwards 

grow; 
How Will-a-\Visp misleads night-faring 

clowns, 
O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless 

downs. 
Of stars he told that shoot with shining 

trail. 
And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his 

tail. 40 

He sung where wood-cocks in the summer 

feed, 
And in what climates they renew their 

breed ; 
Some think to northern coasts their flight 

they tend, . 
Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend. 
Where swallows in the winter season keep. 
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse 

sleep, 46 

How nature does the puppy's eyelid close. 
Till the bright sun has nine times set and 

rose. 
For huntsmen by their long experience find. 
That puppies still nine rolling suns are 

blind. so 

Now he goes on and sings of fairs and 

shows, 
For still new fairs before his eyes arose. 
How pedlars' stalls with glitt'ring toys are 

laid. 
The various fairings of the country maid. 
Long silken laces hang upon the twine, 55 
And rows of pins and amber bracelets 

shine ; 
How the tight lass, knives, combs, and scis- 
sors spies, 
And locks on thimbles with desiring eyes. 
Of lott'ries next with tuneful note he told. 
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of 

gold. 60 

The lads and lasses trudge the street along. 
And all the fair is crowded in his song. 
The mountebank now treads the stage, and 

sells 
His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells; 
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler 

springs, 6s 

And on the rope the vent'rous maiden 

swings ; 



Jack-pudding in his parti-colored jacket 
Toffs the glove, and jokes at ev'ry packet. 
Of raree-shows he sung and Punch's fates, 
Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various 

cheats. 70 

Then sad he sung 'the children in the 

wood.' 
Ah, barb'rous uncle, stain'd with infant 

blood ! 
How blackberries they pluck'd in deserts 

wild. 
And fearless at the glittering fauchion 

smil'd; 
Their little corpses the robin-red-breasts 

found, 75 

And strewed with pious bill the leaves 

around. 
Ah, gentle birds ! if this verse lasts so 

long. 
Your names shall live for ever in my 

song. 
For buxom Joan he sung the doubtful 

strife. 
How the fly sailor made the maid a wife. 80 
To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to 

tell 
What woeful wars in Chevy-Chace befell. 
When ' Percy drove the deer with hound and 

horn, 
Wars to be wept by children yet unborn ! ' 
Ah, Withrington, more years thy life had 

crown'd, 85 

H thou hadst never heard the horn or 

hound ! 
Yet shall the squire, who fought on bloody 

stumps. 
By future bards be wail'd in doleful dumps. 
* * * 

Then he was seized with a religious qualm. 
And on a sudden, sung the hundredth 

psalm. 90 

He sung of Taffy Welch, and Sawney 

Scot, 
Lilly-bullero and the Irish Trot. 
Why should I tell of Bateman or of Shore, 
Or Wantley's dragon slain by valiant 

Moore, 
The bower of Rosamond, or Robin Hood, 
And how the grass now grows where Troy 

town stood? 96 

His carols ceas'd : the listening maids 

and swains 
Seem still to hear some soft imperfect 

strains. 
Sudden he rose; and as he reels along. 
Swears kisses sweet should well reward his 

song. 100 

The damsels laughing fly: the giddy clown 



38o 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



Again upon a wheat-sheaf, drops adown ; 
The power that guards the drunk, his sleep 

attends, 
'Till ruddy, like his face, the sun descends. 

(1714) 

ROBERT BLAIR (1699-1746) 

From THE GRAVE 

Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've 
seen. 

By glimpse of moon-shine, cheq'ring through 
the trees, 

The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand, 

Whistling aloud to bear his courage up. 

And lightly tripping o'er the long flat 
stones 5 

(With nettles skirted, and with moss o'er- 
grown) 

That tell in homely phrase who lie below; 

Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he 
hears, 

The sound of something purring at his 
heels: 

Full fast he flies, and dares not look be- 
hind him, ^° 

Till out of breath he overtakes his fel- 
lows ; 

Who gather round, and wonder at the tale 

Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly. 

That walks at dead of night, or takes his 
stand 

O'er some new-opened grave: and, strange 
to tell! IS 

Evanishes at crowing of the cock. 
* * * 

What is this world? 
What but a spacious burial-field unwall'd, 
Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of 

animals, 
Savage and tame, and full of dead men's 

bones? ^° 

The very turf on which we tread once liv'd; 
And we that live must lend our carcasses 
To cover our own offspring: in their turns 
They too must cover theirs. 'T is here all 

meet! 
The shivering Icelander, and sun-burnt 

Moor ; 25 

Men of all climes, that never met before; 
And of all creeds, the Jew, the Turk, the 

Christian. 
Here the proud prince, and favorite yet 

prouder, 
His sovereign's, keeper, and the people's 

scourge. 



Are huddled out of sight. Here lie abash'd 
The great negotiators of the earth, 31 

And celebrated masters of the balance, 
Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of 

courts: 
Now vain their treaty-skill ! Death scorns 

to treat. 
Here the o'erloaded slave flings down his 

burden 3S 

From his gall'd shoulders; and when the 

cruel tyrant 
With all his guards and tools of power 

about him, 
Is meditating new unheard-of hardships, 
Mocks his short arm, and quick as thought 

escapes 39 

Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest. 
Here the warm lover, leaving the cool 

shade. 
The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream, 
Time out of mind the fav'rite seats of love 
Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down 
Unblasted by foul tongue. Here friends 

and foes 45 

Lie close, unmindful of their former 

feuds. 

* * * 

Sure the last end 
Of the good man is peace. How calm his 
exit! 

Night-dews fall not more gently to the 
ground. 

Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft. 

Behold him! in the evening tide of life, 5i 

A life well spent, whose early care it was 

His riper years should not upbraid his 
green 

By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away; 

Yet like the sun seems larger at his set- 
ting ! 55 

High in his faith and hopes, look! how he 
reaches 

After the prize in view! and, like a bird 

That's hamper'd, struggles hard to get 
away! 

Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide 
expanded 59 

To let new glories in, the first fair fruits 

Of the fast-coming harvest! Then! O 
then ! 

Each earthrborn joy grows vile, or disap- 
pears. 

Shrunk to a thing of nought. O how he 
longs 

To have his passport sign'd, and be dis- 
miss'd ! 

'Tis done, and now he's happy! The glad 
soul 



65 



JOHN DYER 



381 



Has not a wish uncrown'd. Even the lag 

flesh 
Rests too m hope of meeting once again 
Its better half, never to sunder more. 
Nor shall it hope in vain : the time draws on 
When not a single spot of burial-earth, 7° 
Whether on land, or in the spacious sea, 
But must give back its long-committed dust 
Inviolate : and faithfully shall these 
Make up the full account; not the least 

atom 
Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale. 
Each soul shall have a body ready-fur- 
nished; 76 
And each shall have his own. Hence, ye 

profane: 
Ask not how this can be. Sure the same 

power 
That reared the piece at first, and took it 

down. 
Can reassemble the loose scatter'd parts, 
And put them as they were: Almighty 

God 81 

Has done much more: Nor is his arm im- 

pair'd 
Through length of days ; and what he can 

he will : 
His faithfulness stands bound to see it 

done. 
When the dread trumpet sounds, the slum- 
bering dust. 
Not unattentive to the call, shall wake; 86 
And every joint possess its proper place. 
With a new elegance of form, unknown 
To its first state. Nor shall the conscious 

soul 
Mistake its partner; but amidst the crowd. 
Singling its other half, into its arms 91 
Shall rush, with all the impatience of a man 
That 's new come home, who having long 

been absent, 
With haste runs over every different room. 
In pain to see the whole. Thrice happy 

meeting ! 95 

Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them 

more. 
'Tis but a night, a long and moonless 

night ; 
We make the grave our bed, and then are 

gone. 
Thus, at the shut of even, the weary 

bird 
Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely 

brake 100 

Cowers down, and dozes till the dawn of 

day; 
Then claps his well-fledg'd wings and bears 

away. (i743) 



JOHN DYER (170(^1758) 
GRONGAR HILL 

Silent tiyrnph, with curious eye. 

Who, the purple evening, lie 

On the mountain's lonely van. 

Beyond the noise of busy man ; 

Painting fair the form of things, 5 

While the yellow linnet sings; 

Or the tuneful nightingale 

Charms the forest with her tale; 

Come, with all thy various hues, 

Come, and aid thy sister muse ; 10 

Now, while Phoebus, riding high, 

Gives luster to the land and sky! 

Grongar Hill invites my song, 

Draw the landscape bright and strong; 

Grongar, in whose mossy cells, ^S 

Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells; 

Grongar, in whose silent shade, 

For the modest Muses made ; 

So oft I have, the evening still. 

At the fountain of a rill, 20 

Sat upon a flowery bed. 

With my hand beneath my head; 

While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood, 

Over mead, and over wood. 

From house to house, from hill to hill, 25 

Till contemplation had her fill. 

About his checkered sides I wind. 
And leave his brooks and meads behind. 
And groves and grottoes where I lay, 
And vistas shooting beams of day: 30 

Wide and wider spreads the vale. 
As circles on a smooth canal : 
The mountains round, unhappy fat^. 
Sooner or later, of all height. 
Withdraw their summits from the skies, 35 
And lessen as the others rise: 
Still the prospect wider spreads. 
Adds a thousand woods and meads; 
Still it widens, widens still, 
And sinks the newly risen hill. 4o 

Now I gain the mountain's brow, 
What a landscape lies below! 
No clouds, no vapors intervene. 
But the gay, the open scene. 
Does the face of nature shew, 45 

In all the hues of heaven's bow; 
And, swelling to embrace the light. 
Spreads around beneath the sight. 

Old castles on the cliffs arise, 
Proudly towering in the skies ! 5o 

Rushing from the woods, the spires 
Seem from hence ascending fires ! 
Half his beams Apollo sheds 
On the yellow mountain heads ! 



382 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



60 



Gilds the fleeces of the flocks, 55 

And glitters on the broken rocks ! 
Below me trees unnumbered rise, 
Beautiful in various dyes: 
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, 
The yellow beech, the sable yew. 
The slender fir, that taper grows, 
The sturdy oak, with broad-spread boughs. 
And beyond the purple grove, 
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love! 
Gaudy as the opening dawn, 65 

Lies a long and level lawn, 
On which a dark hill, steep and high, 
Holds and charms the wandering eye! 
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood, 
His sides are clothed with waving wood, 7° 
And ancient towers crown his brow. 
That cast an awful look below ; 
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, 
And with her arms from falling keeps : 
So both a safety from the wind 75 

On mutual dependence find. 
'T is now the raven's bleak abode ; 
'T is now the apartment of the toad; 
And there the fox securely feeds. 
And there the poisonous adder breeds, 80 
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds; 
While, ever and anon, there falls 
Huge heaps of hoary mouldered walls. 
Yet time has seen, that lifts the low. 
And level lays the lofty brow, 8s 

Has seen this broken pile complete, 
Big with the vanity of state ; 
But transient is the smile of fate! 
A little rule, a little sway, 
A sunbeam in a winter's day, 9o 

Is all the proud and mighty have 
Between the cradle and the grave. 

And see the rivers, how they run 
Through woods and meads, in shade and 

sun, 
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, 95 

Wave succeeding wave, they go 
A various journey to the deep. 
Like human life, to endless sleep ! 
Thus is nature's vesture wrought. 
To instruct our wandering thought; 1°° 

Thus she dresses green and gay. 
To disperse our cares away. 

Ever charming, ever new. 
When will the landscape tire the view ! 
The fountain's fall, the river's flow, 105 
The woody valleys, warm and low ; 
The windy summit, wild and high, 
Roughly rushing on the sky! 
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower. 
The naked rock, the shady bower; "o 

The town and village, dome and farm. 
Each give each a double charm. 



As pearls upon an ^thiop's arm. \ 

See, on the mountain's southern side. 
Where the prospect opens wide, us 

Where the evening gilds the tide. 
How close and small the hedges lie! 
What streaks of meadows cross the eye ! 
A step, methinks, may pass the stream. 
So little distant dangers seem; 120 

So we mistake the future's face. 
Eyed through hope's deluding glass; 
As yon summits soft and fair, 
Clad in colors of the air, 
Which to tJiose who journey near, 1^5 

Barren, brown, and rough appear; 
Still we tread the same coarse way, 
The present 's still a cloudy day. 

O may I with myself agree. 
And never covet what I see ! 130 

Content me with an humble shade. 
My passions tamed, my wishes laid ; 
For while our wishes wildly roll. 
We banish quiet from the soul : 
'T is thus the busy beat the air, i35 

And misers gather wealth and care. 

Now, even now, my joys run high. 
As on the mountain tuff I lie; 
While the wanton zephyr sings, 
And in the vale perfumes his wings ; 140 
While the waters murmur deep, 
While the shepherd charms his sheep, 
While the birds unbounded fly. 
And with music fill the sky. 
Now, even now, my joys run high. i45 

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will ; 
Search for peace with all your skill ; 
Open wide the lofty door, 
Seek her on the marble floor : 
In vain you search, she is not there; 150 
In vain you search the domes of care ! 
Grass and flowers Quiet treads, 
On the meads and mountain heads. 
Along with Pleasure close allied. 
Ever by each other's side: ^55 

And often, by the murmuring rill. 
Hears the thrush, while all is still. 
Within the groves of Grongar Hill. 

(1726) 



WILLIAM SHENSTONE (1714- 
1763) 

From THE SCHOOLMISTRESS 

Near to this dome is found a patch so 
green, 

On which the tribe their gambols do dis- 
play; 



WILLIAM SHENSTONE 



383 



And at the door imprisoning board is 
seen, 

Lest weakly wights of smaller size should 
stray ; 

Eager, perdie, to bask in sunny day! s 

The noises intermixed, which thence re- 
sound, 

Do learning's little tenement betray; 

Where sits the dame, disguised in look 
profound. 
And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her 
wheel around. 

Her cap, far whiter than the driven 
snow, 10 

Emblem right meet of decency does yield : 

Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trow. 

As is the harebell that adorns the field ; 

And in her hand, for scepter, she does 
wield 

Tway birchen sprays ; with anxious fear 
entwined, is 

With dark distrust, and sad repentance 
filled ; 

And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction 
joined, 
And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement un- 
kind. 

A russet stole was o'er her shoulders 
thrown ; 

A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air; 20 

'T was simple russet, but it was her own ; 

'T was her own country bred the flock so 
fair! 

'Twas her own labor did the fleece pre- 
pare ; 

And, sooth to say, her pupils ranged 
around. 

Through pious awe, did term it passing 
rare; 25 

For they in gaping wonderment abound, 
And think, no doubt, she been the greatest 
wight on ground. 

Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, 

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; 

Goody, good woman, gossip, n'aunt, for- 
sooth, 30 

Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; 

Yet these she challenged, these she held 
right dear; 

Ne would esteem him act as mought be- 
hdve. 

Who should not honored eld with these 
revere ; 

For never title yet so mean could prove. 

But there was eke a mind which did that 

title love. 36 



One ancient hen she took delight to feed. 
The plodding pattern of the busy dame; 
Which, ever and anon, impelled by need. 
Into her school, begirt with chickens, 

came ; 40 

Such favor did her past deportment claim ; 
And, if neglect had lavished on the 

ground 
Fragment of bread, she would collect the 

same ; 
For well she knew, and quaintly could 

expound. 
What sin it were to waste the smallest 

crumb she found. 45 

Herbs, too, she knew, and well of each 

could speak. 
That in her garden sipped the silvery 

dew; 
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy 

streak. 
But herbs for use and physic, not a few, 
Of gray renown, within those borders 

grew : so 

The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, 
Fresh balm, and marigold of cheerful 

hue: 
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb; 
And more I fain would sing, disdaining 

here to rhyme. 

Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent 

eve, 55 

Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth 

did mete; 
If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did 

cleave, 
But in her' garden found a summer-seat : 
Sweet melody ! to hear her then repeat 
How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king. 
While taunting foemen did a song en- 
treat, 61 
All, for the nonce, untuning every string, 
Uphung their useless lyres — small heart 
had they to sing. 

For she was just, and friend to virtuous 
lore. 

And passed much time in truly virtuous 
deed ; 65 

And in those elfins' ears would oft de- 
plore 

The times, when truth by popish rage did 
bleed. 

And tortuous death was true devotion's 
meed; 

And simple faith in iron chains did 
mourn. 



384 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



That nould on wooden image place her 

creed ; 7° 

And lawny saints in smouldering flames 

did burn : 

Ah! dearest Lord, forefend thilk days 

should e'er return! 

In elbow-chair (like that of Scottish stem, 

By the sharp tooth of cankering eld de- 
faced, 

In which, when he receives his diadem, 75 

Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is 
placed) 

The matron sat; and some with rank she 
graced, 

(The source of children's and of courtiers' 
pride!) 

Redressed affronts — for vile affronts 
there passed ; 

And warned them not the fretful to de- 
ride, 80 
But love each other dear, whatever them 
betide. 

Right well she knew each temper to 

descry. 
To thwart the proud, and the submiss to 

raise ; 
Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, 
And some entice with pittance small of 

praise ; 85 

And other some with baleful sprig she 

frays : 
Even absent, she the reins of power doth 

hold. 
While with quaint arts the giddy crowd 

she sways ; 
Forewarned, if little bird their pranks 

behold, 
'T will whisper in her ear, and all the scene 

unfold. 90 

Lo! now with state she utters her com- 
mand; 

Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks re- 
pair. 

Their books of stature small they take 
in hand. 

Which with pellucid horn secured are. 

To save from finger wet the letters fair : 

The work so gay, that on their back is 
seen, 96 

St, George's high achievements does de- 
clare ; 

On which thilk wight that has y-gazing 
been. 
Kens the forthcoming rod — unpleasing 
sight, I ween ! 



Ah! luckless he, and born beneath thej 
beam i< 

Of evil star! it irks me whilst I write; 

As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream,! 

Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight, ' 

Sighed as he sung, and did in tears in- 
dite ; 

For brandishing the rod, she doth begin 

To loose the brogues, the stripling's late 
delight; 106 

And down they drop; appears his dainty 
skin, 
Fair as the furry coat of whitest ermilin. 

O ruthful scene! when, from a nook ob- 
scure. 
His little sister doth his peril see, no 
All playful as she sat, she grows demure ; 
She finds full soon her wonted spirits 

flee; 

She meditates a prayer to set him free; 

Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny — 

If gentle pardon could with dames agree — 

To her sad grief that swells in either 

eye, 116 

And wrings her so that all for pity she 

could die. 



No longer can she now her shrieks com- 
mand; 

And hardly she forbears, through awful 
fear. 

To rushen forth, and, with presumptuous 
hand, 1-20 

To stay harsh justice in its mid career. 

On thee she calls, on thee her parent 
dear; 

(Ah ! too remote to ward the shameful 
blow !) 

She sees no kind domestic visage near. 

And soon a flood of tears begins to flow, 

And gives a loose at last to unavailing 

woe. 126 

But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may 
trace .-' 

Or what device his loud laments ex- 
plain — 

The form uncouth of his disguised face — 

The pallid hue that dyes his looks 
amain — 130 

The plenteous shower that does his cheek 
disdain? 

When he, in abject wise, implores the 
dame, 

Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to 
gain ; 



MARK AKENSIDE 



385 



Or when from high she levels well her 
aim, 
And, through the thatch, his cries each fall- 
ing stroke proclaim, i3S 

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle 
sky, 

And liberty unbars her prison door; 

And like a rushing torrent out they fly ; 

And now the grassy cirque han covered 
o'er 

With boisterous revel rout and wild up- 
roar; 140 

A thousand ways in wanton rings they 
run. 

Heaven shield their short-lived pastimes 
I implore ; 

For well may freedom erst so dearly won 
Appear to British elf more gladsome than 
the sun. 

Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive 

trade, i45 

And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest 

flowers ; 
For when my bones in grass-green sods 

are laid, 
O never may ye taste more careless hours 
In knightly castles or in ladies' bowers. 
O vain to seek delight in earthly thing! 150 
But most in courts, where proud ambition 

towers ; 
Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can 

spring 
Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of 

king. 

(1742) 

* * * 



MARK AKENSIDE (1721-1770) 

From PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINA- 
TION 

Who that, from Alpine heights, his labor- 
ing eye 
Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey 
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave 
Through mountains, plains, through empires 

black with shade. 
And continents of sand, will turn his gaze s 
To mark the windings of a scanty rill 
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born 

soul 
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 1° 



Through fields of air; pursues the flying 

storm ; 
Rides on the vollied lightning through the 

heavens ; 
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern 

blast, 
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high 

she soars 
The blue profound, and, hovering round the 

sun, IS 

Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway 
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve 
The fated rounds of Time. Thence far 

effused. 
She darts her swiftness up the long career 
Of devious comets: through its burning 

signs 21 

Exulting measures the perennial wheel 
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars. 
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone. 
Invest the orient Now, amazed she views 
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits 

hold, 26 

Beyoiid this concave heaven, their calm 

abode ; 
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light 
Has traveled the profound six thousand 

years. 
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. 3° 
Even on the barriers of the world, untired 
She meditates the eternal depth below; 
Till half-recciling, down the headlong steep 
She plunges ; soon o'erwhelmed and swal- 
lowed up 
In that immense of being. There her hopes 
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth 
Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said, 37 
That not in humble nor in brief delight, 
Not in the fading echoes of Renown, 
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery 

lap, 40 

The soul should find enjoyment: but from 

these 
Turning disdainful to an equal good, 
Through all the ascent of things enlarge 

her view. 
Till every bound at length should disap- 
pear. 
And infinite perfection close the scene. 45 

(1744) 



O ye dales 
Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands; 

where 
Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides. 
And his banks open and his lawns extend. 



386 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



Stops short the pleased traveler to view, so 
Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower 
Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands : 

ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 
Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream! 55 
How gladly I recall your well-known seats 
Beloved of old, and that delightful time 
When all alone, for many a summer's day, 

1 wandered through your calm recesses, led 
In silence by some powerful hand un- 
seen. ^° 

Nor will I e'er forget you ; nor shall e'er 
The graver tasks of manhood, or the ad- 
vice 
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim 
Those studies which possessed me in the 

dawn 
Of life, and fixed the color of my mind 65 
For every future year : whence even now 
From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn. 
And, while the world around lies over- 
whelmed 
In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts 
Of honorable fame, of truth divine 7° 

Or moral, and of minds to virtue won 
By the sweet magic of harmonious verse. 

(1772) 



WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) 
ODE 

WRITTEN IN THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 
1746 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold. 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod s 

Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 

By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 

There Honor comes, a pilgrim grey. 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay; ^° 

And Freedom shall awhile repair, 

To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 



ODE TO EVENING 

If ought of oaten stop, or pastoral' song, 
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest 
ear. 



Like thy own solemn springs, 
Thy springs and dying gales, 

O nymph reserv'd, while now the bright- 
hair'd sun 5 

Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy 
skirts. 
With brede ethereal wove, 
O'erhang his wavy bed : 

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak- 

ey'd bat. 
With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern 
wing, 10 

Or where the beetle winds 
His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum: 
Now teach me, maid compos'd, is 

To breathe some soften'd strain. 

Whose numbers, stealing thro' thy dark- 

'ning vale 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit. 

As, musing slow, I hail 

Thy genial lov'd return ! 20 

For when thy folding-star arising shews 
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, the elves 

Who slept in flow'rs the day, 

And many a nymph who wreaths her brows 
with sedge, 25 

And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and, lovelier 
still 
The pensive Pleasures sweet, 
Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then lead, calm vot'ress, where some sheety 

lake 
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hal- 
low'd pile 30 

Or upland fallows grey 
Reflect its last cool gleam. 

But when chill blust'ring winds, or driving 
rain. 

Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut 
That from the mountain's side 35 

Views wilds, and swelling floods. 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd 

spires, 
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er 
all 
Thy dewy fingers draw 
The gradual dusky veil. 40 



WILLIAM COLLINS 



387 



While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft 

he wont, 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest 
Eve ; 
While Summer loves to sport 
Beneath thy ling'ring light ; 

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with 
leaves ; 43 

Or Winter, yelling thro' the troublous air. 

Affrights thy shrinking train, 

And rudely rends thy robes ; 

So long, sure-found beneath the sylvan 

shed, 
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lipp'd 
Health, so 

Thy gentlest influence own. 
And hymn thy f av'rite name ! 

(1746) 

ODE TO SIMPLICITY 

O Thou, by nature taught 
To breathe her genuine thought, 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly 
strong ; 
Who first, on mountains wild. 
In fancy, loveliest child, s 

Thy babe, or pleasure's, nursed the powers 
of song! 

Thou, who, with hermit heart, 

Disdain'st the wealth of art. 
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing 
pall; 

But com'st a decent maid, 10 

In Attic robe arrayed, 
O chaste, unboastful nymph, to thee I call; 

By all the honeyed store 

On Hybla's thymy shore ; 
By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs 
dear; 13 

By her whose lovelorn woe. 

In evening musings slow. 
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear : 

By old Cephisus deep, 

Who spread his wavy sweep, -20 

In warbled wanderings, round thy green re- 
treat ; 

On whose enameled side. 

When holy freedom died. 
No equal haunt allured thy future feet. 

O sister meek of truth, '^ 25 

To my admiring youth, 



Thy sober aid and native chaims infuse! 
The flowers that sweetest breathe, 
Though beauty culled the wreath, 

Still ask thy hand to range their ordered 
hues. 30 

While Rome could none esteem 
But virtue's patriot theme. 
You loved her hills, and led their laureat 
band : 
But stayed to sing alone 
To one distinguished throne; 35 

And turned the face, and fled her altered 
land. 

No more, in hall or bower. 
The passions own thy power ; 
Love, only love, her forceless numbers 
mean : 
For thou hast left her shrine; 4° 

Nor olive more, nor vine. 
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile 
scene. 

Though taste, though genius, bless 
To some divine excess. 
Faints the cold work till thou inspire the 
whole ; 43 

What each, what all supply. 
May court, may charm, our eye ; 
Thou, only thou, cans't raise the meeting 
soul ! 

Of these let others ask, 

To aid some mighty task, 50 

I only seek to find thy temperate vale ; 

Where oft my reed might sound 

To maids and shepherds round. 
And all thy sons, nature, learn my tale. 

(1746) 



THE PASSIONS 

AN ODE FOR MUSIC 

When Music, heav'nly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung. 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell, 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 5 

Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd : 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fir'd, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, 10 

From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch'd her instruments of sound; 
And as they oft had heard apart 



388 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 

Each, for madness rul'd the hour, ^S 

Would prove his own expressive pow'r. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, 

And back recoii'd, he knew not why, 
Ev'n at the sound himself had made. 20 

Next Anger rush'd ; his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings own'd his secret stings; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woeful measures wan Despair 23 

Low sullen sounds his grief beguil'd ; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 
'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delightful measure? 3° 

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance 
hail! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong. 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 

She call'd on Echo still thro' all the song;3S 

And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at ev'ry 

close, 
And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her 
golden hair. 



And 



she sung, — but with a 



40 
in thun- 



of 

45 



longer had 
frown 
Revenge impatient rose; 
He threw his blood-stain'd sword 
der down 
And with a with'ring look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full 
woe. 

And ever and anon he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat; 
And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause be- 
tween. 
Dejected Pity, at his side. 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, so 

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd 
bursting from his head. 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of diff'ring themes the veering song was 
niix'd, ss 



60 



And now it courted Love, now raving 
call'd on Hate. 
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd. 
Pale Melancholy sate retir'd. 
And from her wild sequester'd seat, 
In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive 
soul: 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels join'd the soimd; 
Thro' glades and glooms the mingled 
measure stole ; 
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond 
delay 65 

Round an holy calm diffusing. 
Love of peace and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest 
hue, 70 

Her bow across her shoulder ^ung. 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket 
rung. 
The hunter's call to faun and dryad 

known ! 
The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste- 
ey'd queen, 75 

Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, 
And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his 
beechen spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. 80 

He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; 
But soon he saw the brisk awak'ning viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the 
best. 
They would have thought, who heard 
the strain, 85 

They saw in Tempe's vale her native 

maids 
Amidst the vestal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings. 
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic 
round ; 90 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un- 
bound. 
And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings 



O Music, sphere-descended maid, 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, 



95 



THOMAS WARTON 



389 



Why, goddess, why, to us denied, 

Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? 

As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r 

You learn'd an afi-commanding pow'r 100 

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd, 

Can well recall what then it heard. 

Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? 

Arise as in that elder time, 105 

Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 

Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 

Fill thy recording sister's page. — 

'T is said, and I believe the tale. 

Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 110 

Had more of strength, diviner rage, 

Than all which charms this laggard age, 

Ev'n all at once together found, 

Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 

O, bid our vain endeavors, cease, "S 

Revive the just designs of Greece, 

Return in all thy simple state. 

Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 

(1746) 

A SONG FROM SHAKSPERE'S 
CYMBELINE 

Sung by Guiderus and Arviragus over 
Fidele, supposed to be dead 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Each op'ning sweet, of earliest bloom, 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear, s 

To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; 

But shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No wither'd witch shall here be seen. 

No goblins lead their nightly crew; 10 

The female fays shall haunt the green, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

The redbreast oft at ev'ning hours 

Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
With hoary moss, and gather'd flow'rs, iS 

To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds, and beating rain, 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell. 

Or midst the chase on ev'ry plain, 
The tender thought on thee shall dwell, 20 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore. 
For thee the tear be duly shed: 

Belov'd, till life could charm no more; 
And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead. 

(1744) 



THOMAS WARTON (1728-1790) 
THE GRAVE OF KING ARTHUR 

Stately the feast, and high the cheer: 

Girt with many an armed peer, 

And canopied with golden pall. 

Amid Cilgarran's castle hall. 

Sublime in formidable state, 5 

And warlike splendor, Henry sate ; 

Prepar'd to stain the briny flood 

Of Shannon's lakes with rebel blood. 

Illumining the vaulted roof, 
A thousand torches flam'd aloof: 10 

From massy cups, with golden gleam 
Sparkled the red metheglin's stream: 
To grace the gorgeous festival. 
Along the lofty-window'd hall, 
The storied tapestry was hung; — is 

With minstrelsy the rafters rung 
Of harps, that with reflected light 
From the proud gallery glitter'd bright: 
While gifted bards, a rival throng 
(From distant Mona, nurse of song, 20 

From Teivi, fring'd with umbrage brown, 
From Elvy's vale, and Cader's crown. 
From many a shaggy precipice 
That shades lerne's hoarse abyss. 
And many a sunless solitude 25 

Of Radnor's inmost mountains rude), 
To crown the banquet's solemn close. 
Themes of British glory chose ; 
And to the strings of various chime 
Attemper'd thus the fabling rhyme. 3° 

* O'er Cornwall's cliff's the tempest roar'd. 
High the screaming sea-mew soar'd; 
On Tintagell's topmost tower 
Darksome fell the sleety shower; 
Round the rough castle shrilly sung 35 

The whirling blast, and wildly flung 
On each tall rampart's thundering side 
The surges of the tumbling tide: 
When Arthur rang'd his red-cross ranks 
On conscious Camlan's crimson'd banks : 4° 
By Mordred's faithless guile decreed 
Beneath a Saxon spear to bleed! 
Yet in vain a paynim foe 
Arm'd with fate the mighty blow; 
For when he fell an elfin queen, 45 

All in secret, and unseen, 
O'er the fainting hero threw 
Her mantle of ambrosial blue; 
And bade her spirits bear him far. 
In Merlin's agate-axled car, so 

To her green isle's enamell'd steep, 
Far in the navel of the deep. 
O'er his wounds she sprinkled dew 
From flowers that in Arabia grew: 



390 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



On a rich enchanted bed 
She pillow'd his majestic head; 
O'er his brow, with whispers bland, 
;Thrice she wav'd an opiate wand; 
And to soft music's airy sound, 
Her magic curtains clos'd around. 
There, renew'd the vital spring, 
Again he reigns a mighty king; 
And many a fair and fragrant clime, 
Blooming in immortal prime. 
By gales of Eden ever fann'd. 
Owns the monarch's high command: 
Thence to Britain shall return 
(If right prophetic rolls I learn), 
Borne on Victory's spreading plume. 
His ancient scepter to resume; 
Once more, in old heroic pride. 
His barbed courser to bestride; 
His knightly table to restore, 
And brave the tournaments of yore,' 



ss 



60 



65 



70 



(1777) 



SONNETS 

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF DUGDALE's 
MONASTICON 

Deem not devoid of elegance the sage. 
By Fancy's genuine feelings unbeguiled 
Of painful pedantry, the poring child, 
Who turns of these proud tomes the his- 
toric page, 
Now sunk by Time, and Henry's fiercer 
rage. s 

Think'st thou the warbling muses never 

smiled 
On his lone hours? Ingenious views en- 
gage 
His thoughts on themes unclassic falsely 

styled, 
Intent. While cloistered piety displays 
Her moldering roll, the piercing eye ex- 
plores 10 
New manners, and the pomp of elder days. 
Whence culls the pensive bard his pictured 

stores. 
Not rough nor barren are the winding ways 
Of hoar antiquity, but strewn with flowers. 

(1777) 

WRITTEN AT STONEHENGE 

Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle ! 
Whether by Merlin's aid from Scythia's 

shore, 
To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore. 
Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty pih, 



T' entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's 

guile: s 

Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human 

gore. 
Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic 

lore: 
Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with savage 

spoil, 
To Victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, 
Rear'd the rude heap: or, in thy hallow'd 

round, 1° 

Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line; 
Or here those kings in solemn state were 

crown'd : 
Studious to trace thy wondrous origine, 
We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd. 

(1777) 



THOMAS CHATTERTON 

(I 752-1 770) 

BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE 

OR THE DETHE OF SYR CHARLES 
BAWDIN 

The featherd songster chaunticleer 
Han wounde hys bugle home. 

And tolde the earlie villager 

The commynge of the morne : 4 

Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes 

Of lyghte eclypse the greie; 
And herde the raven's crokynge throte 

Proclayme the fated daie. 8 

' Thou 'rt ryghte,' quod he, ' for, by the 
Godde 

That syttes enthron'd on hyghe ! 
Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine, 

To-daie shall surelie die.' 12 

Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale 
Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite; 

' Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie 

Hee leaves thys mortall state.' i^ 

Sir Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, 
With harte brymm-fulle of woe; 

Hee journey'd to the castle-gate. 

And to Syr Charles dydd goe. 20 

Butt whenne hee came, hys children twaine, 

And eke hys lovynge wyfe, 
Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore, 

For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. ^4 



THOMAS . CHATTERTON 



391 



28 



' O, goode Syr Charles ! ' sayd Canterlone, 
' Badde tydyngs I doe brynge.' 

' Speke boldlie, manne,' sayd brave Syr 
Charles, 
'Whatte says thie traytor kynge?' 

' I greeve to telle ; before yonne Sonne 
Does fromme the welkinn fiye, 

Hee hathe uppon hys honour sworne, 
Thatt thou shalt surelie die.' 32 

' Wee all must die,' quod brave Syr Charles ; 

'Of thatte I'm not affearde; 
Whatte bootes to lyve a little space? 

Thanke Jesu, I'm prepar'd : 36 

' Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, 

I'de sooner die to-daie 
Thanne lyve hys slave, as manie are, 

Though I shoulde lyve for aie.' 40 

Thenne Canterlone hee dydd goe out, 

To telle the niaior straite 
To gett all thynges ynne redyness 

For goode Syr Charleses fate. 44 

Thenne Maister Canynge saughte the kynge. 
And felle down onne hys knee; 

' I'm come,' quod hee, ' unto your grace 
To move your clemencye.' 48 

Thenne quod the kynge, ' Youre tale speke 
out. 

You have been much oure f riende ; 
Whatever youre request may bee, 

Wee wylle to ytte attende. 52 

* My noble liege ! alle my request, 

Ys for a nobile knyghte. 
Who, though may hap hee has donne 
wronge, 

Hee thoughte ytte stylle v^^as ryghte: 56 

' He has a spouse and children tviraine, 

Alle rewyn'd are for aie ; 
Yff that you are resolved to lett 

Charles Bawdin die to-dai.' 60 

' Speke not of such a traytour vile,' 

The kynge ynn f urie sayde ; 
' Before the evening starre doth sheene, 

Bawdin shall loose hys hedde : 64 

'Justice does loudlie for hyni calle, 
And hee shalle have hys meede : 

Speke, maister Canynge ! Whatte thynge 
else 
Att present doe you neede ? ' 68 



* My nobile liege ! ' goode Canynge sayde, 

'Leave justice to our Godde, 
And laye the yronne rule asyde ; 

Be thyme the olyve rodde. "7^ 

' Was Godde to serche our hertes and 
reines. 

The best were synners grete ; 
Christ's vycarr only knowes ne synne, 

Ynne alle thys mortall state. 76 

' Lett mercie rule thyne infante reigne, 
'T wylle faste thye crowne fuUe sure; 

From race to race thye familie 
Alle sov'reigns shall endure : 80 

' But yff wythe bloode and slaughter thou 

Beginne thy infante reigne, 
Thy crowne upponne thy childrennes brows 

Wylle never long remayne.' 84 

' Canynge, awaie ! thys traytour vile 
Has scorn'd my power and mee ; 

Howe canst thou then for such a manne 
Entreate my clemencye?' ^8 

' My nobile liege ! the trulie brave 

Wylle val'rous actions prize; 
Respect a brave and nobile mynde, 

Although ynne enemies.' 9^ 

' Canynge, awaie ! By Godde ynne Heav'n 

That dydd mee beinge gyve, 
I wylle nott taste a bitt of breade 

Whilst thys Syr Charles dothe lyve. 96 

' By Marie, and alle Seinctes ynne Heav'n, 

Thys sunne shall be hys laste,' 
Thenne Canynge dropt a brinie teare, 

And from the presence paste. 1°° 

With herte brymm-fuU of gnawynge grief, 

Hee to Syr Charles dydd goe, 
And sat hymm downe uponne a stoole, 

And teares beganne to flowe. 104 

' Wee all must die,' quod brave Syr Charles ; 

'Whatte bootes ytte howe or whenne; 
Dethe ys the sure, the certaine fate 

Of all wee mortall menne. 108 

' Saye why, my friende, thie honest soul 

Runns overr att thyne eye ; 
Is ytte for my most welcome doome 

Thatt thou dost child-lyke crye?' "2 

Quod godlie Canynge, ' I doe weepe, 
Thatt thou soe soone must dye. 



392 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



And leave thy sonnes and helpless wyfe; 
'Tys thys thatt wettes myne eye.' "6 

'Thenne drie the tears thatt out thyne eye 
From godlie fountaines sprynge ; 

Dethe I despise, and alle the power 

Of Edvvarde, traytour kynge. 120 

* Whan through the tyrant's welcom means 

I shall resigne my lyfe, 
The Godde I serve wylle soone provyde 

For bothe mye soones and wyfe. 124 

' Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, 

Thys was appointed mee; 
Shall mortall manne repyne or grudge 

What Godde ordeynes to bee? 128 

'Howe oft ynne battaile have I stood 
Whan thousands dy'd arounde ; 

Whan smokynge streemes of crimson bloode 
Imbrew'd the fatten'd grounde: 132 

'Howe dydd I knowe thatt ev'ry darte, 

That cutte the airie waie, 
Myghte nott fynde passage toe my harte, 

And close myne eyes for aie? 136 

'And shall I nowe, forr feere of dethe, 
Looke wanne and bee dysmayde? 

Ne! fromm my herte flie childyshe feere, 
Bee alle the manne display 'd. 140 

'Ah! goddelyke Henrie ! Godde forefende, 
And guarde thee and thye sonne, 

Yff 't is hys wylle ; but yff 't is nott, 
Why thenne hys wylle bee donne. '44 

' My honest f riende, my faulte has beene 
To serve Godde and myre prynce; 

And thatt I no tyme-server am, 
My dethe wylle soone convynce. 148 



' Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, 

Of parents of grete note; 
My fadre dydd a nobile armes 

Emblazon onne hys cote : 



' I make ne doubte butt hee ys gone 
Where soone I hope to goe ; 

Where wee for ever shall bee blest, 
From oute the reech of woe. 



152 



is6 



' Hee taughte mee justice and the laws 

Wyth pitie to unite ; 
And eke hee taughte mee howe to knowe 

The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: 160 



'Hee taughte mee with a prudent hande 

To feede the hungrie poore, 
Ne lett mye servants dryve awaie 

The hungrie fromme my doore: 164 

' And none can saye butt alle mye lyfe 

I have hys wordyes kept ; 
And summ'd the actyonns of the dale 

Eche nyght before I slept. 168 

' I have a spouse, goe aske of her 

Yff I defyl'd her bedde? 
I have a kynge, and none can laie 

Black treason onne my hedde. 172 

' Ynne Lent, and onne the holie eve, 
Fromm fleshe I dydd refrayne; 

Whie should I thenne appeare dismay'd 
To leave thys worlde of payne? 176 

'Ne, hapless Henrie! I rejoyce, 

I shall ne see thye dethe; 
Moste willynglie ynne thye just cause 

Doe I resign my brethe. 180 

' Oh, fickle people I rewyn'd londe ! 

Thou wylt kenne peace ne moe; 
Whyle Richard's sonnes exalt themselves, 

Thye brookes wythe bloude wylle flowe. 

' Saie, were ye tyr'd of godlie peace, ^85 

And godlie Henrie's reigne, 
Thatt you dydd choppe your easie daies 

For those of bloude and peyne? 188 

'Whatte though I onne a sledde be drawne, 

And mangled by a hynde, 
I doe defye the traytor's pow'r, 

Hee can ne harm my mynd; ^9' 

' Whatte though, uphoisted onne a pole, 
Mye lymbes shall rotte ynne ayre, 

And ne ryche monument of brasse 

Charles Bawdin's name shall bear; 196 

' Yett ynne the holie booke above, 
Whyche tyme can't eate awaie, 

There wythe the servants of the Lord 

Mye name shall lyve for aie. 200 

' Thenne welcome dethe ! for lyfe eterne 

I leave thys mortall lyfe : 
Farewell vayne world, and alle that's deare, 

Mye sonnes and lovynge wyfe! 204 

' Nowe dethe as welcome to mee comes, 
As e'er the moneth of Maie; 



THOMAS CHATTERTON 



393 



Nor woulde I even wyshe to lyve, 
Wyth my dere wyfe to staie.' 208 

Quod Canynge, ' 'T ys a goodlie thynge 

To bee prepar'd to die ; 
And from thys world of peyne and grefe 

To Godde ynne heav'n to flic' 212 

And nowe the belle began to tolle, 

And claryonnes to sound ; 
Syr Charles hee herde the horses feete 

A prauncyng onne the grounde: 216 

And just before the officers 

His lovynge wyfe came ynne, 
Weepynge unfeigned teeres of woe, 

Wythe loude and dysmalle dynne. 220 

' Sweet Florence I nowe I praie forbere, 

Ynn quiet lett mee die ; 
Praie Godde thatt ev'ry Christian soule 

Maye looke onne dethe as I. 224 

'Sweet Florence! why these brinie teers? 

Theye washe my soule awaie, 
And almost make mee wyshe for lyfe, 

Wyth thee, sweete dame, to staie. 228 

"Tys butt a journie I shalle goe 

Untoe the lande of biysse ; 
Nowe, as a proofe of husbande's love, 

Receive thys holie kysse.' 2.32 

Thenne Florence, fault'ring ynne her saie, 
Tremblynge these wordyes spoke, 

'Ah, cruele Edwarde ! bloudie kynge! 
Mye herte ys welle nyghe broke : 236 

Ah, sweete Syr Charles! why wylt thou 
goe, 
Wythoute thye lovynge wyfe ? 
The cruelle axe thatt cuttes thy necke, 
Ytte eke shall ende mye lyfe.' 240 

And nowe the officers came ynne 

To brynge Syr Charles awaie, 
Whoe turnedd toe hys lovynge wyfe. 

And thus to her dydd saie : 244 

' I goe to lyfe, and nott to dethe ; 

Truste thou ynne Godde above. 
And teache thy sonnes to feare the Lorde, 

And ynne theyre hertes hym love : 248 

' Teache them to runn-e the nobile race 

Thatt I theyre fader runne ; 
Florence! shou'd dethe thee take — adieu! 

Yee officers leade onne.' 252 



Thenne Florence rav'd as anie madde. 

And dydd her tresses tere; 
' Oh, staie, mye husbande, lorde, and lyfe ! * 

Syr Charles thenne dropt a teare. 256 

'T yll tyredd oute wythe ravynge loude, 

Shee fellen onne the flore; 
Syr Charles exerted alle hys myghte, 

And march'd fromm oute the dore. 260 

Uponne a sledde hee mounted thenne, 
Wythe lookes full brave and swete ; 

Lookes thatt enshone ne more concern 
Thanne anie ynne the strete. 264 

Before hym went -the council-menne, 
Ynne Scarlett robes and golde, 

And tassils spanglynge ynne the sunne, 
Muche glorious to beholde : 268 

The Freers of Seincte Augustyne next 

Appeared to the syghte, 
Alle cladd ynne homelie russett weedes, 

Of godlie monkysh plyghte: 272 

Ynne diffraunt partes a godlie psaume 
Moste sweetlie theye dydd chaunt; 

Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles 
came. 
Who tun'd the strunge bataunt. ^7^ 

Thenne fyve-and-twentye archers came; 

Echone the bowe dydd bende. 
From rescue of Kynge Henries friends 

Syr Charles forr to defend. 280 

Bolde as a lyon came Syr Charles, 
Drawne onne a cloth-layde sledde. 

Bye two blacke stedes ynne trappynges 
white, 
Wyth plumes uponne theyre hedde : 284 

Behynde hym five-and-twenty moe 

Of archers stronge and stoute, 
Wyth bended bowe echone ynne hande, 

Marched ynne goodlie route; 288 

Seincte Jameses Freers marched next, 

Echone hys parte dydd chaunt ; 
Behynde theyre backes syx mynstrelles came, 

Who tun'd the strunge bataunt : 293 

Thenne came the maior and eldermenne, 

Ynne clothe of scarlett deck't ; 
And theyre attendynge menne echone, 

Lyke easterne princes trickt : 296 

And after them, a multitude 
Of citizens dydd thronge; 



394 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 



The wyndowes were alle fulle of heddes, 
As hee dydd passe alonge. 3°° 

And whenne hee came to the hyghe crosse, 
Syr Charles dydd turne and saie, 

' O, thou, thatt savest manne f romme synne, 
Washe mye soule clean thys daie ! ' 304 

Att th.e grete mynster wyndowe sat 

The kynge ynne mycle state, 
To see Charles Bawdin goe alonge 

To hys most welcom fate. 308 

Soone as the sledde drewe nyghe enowe, 
Thatt Edwarde hee myghte heare, 

The brave Syr Charles hee dydd stande 
uppe, 
And thus hys wordes declare: S'-^ 

' Thou seest me, Edwarde ! traytour vile ! 

Expos'd to infamie; 
Butt bee assur'd disloyall manne! 

I 'm greaterr nowe thanne thee. 316 

' Bye foule proceedyngs, murdre, bloude, 

Thou wearest nowe a crowne ; 
And hast appoynted mee to die, 

By power nott thyne owne. 320 

' Thou thynkest I shall die to-daie ; 

I have beene dede 'till nowe, 
And soone shall lyve to weare a crowne 

For aie uponne my browe : 3^4 

'Whylst thou, perhapps, for som few 
yeares, 

Shalt rule thys fickle lande, 
To lett them knowe howe wyde the rule 

'Twixt kynge and tyrant hande : 328 

' Thye pow'r unjust, thou traytour slave ! 

Shall falle onne thye owne hedde ' — 
Fromm out of hearyng of the kynge 

Departed thenne the sledde. 332 

Kynge Edwarde's soule rush'd to hys face, 

Hee turn'd hys hedde awaie. 
And to hys broder Gloucester 

Hee thus dydd speke and saie : 336 

' To hym that soe much dreaded dethe 

Ne ghastlie terrors brynge, 
Beholde the manne ! hee spake the truthe, 

Hee 's greater thanne a kynge ! ' 340 

' Soe let hym die ! ' Duke Richarde sayde ; 

' And maye echone oure foes 
Bende downe theyre neckes to bloudie axe 

And feede the carryon crowes.' 344 



And nowe the horses gentlie drewe 
Syr Charles uppe the hyghe hylle ; 

The axe dydd glysterr ynne the sunne. 
His pretious bloude to spylle. 34S 

Syr Charles dydd uppe the scafifold goe. 

As uppe a gilded carre 
Of victory, bye val'rous chiefs 

Gayn'd ynne the bloudie warre: t-"" 

And to the people hee dyd saie, 

' Beholde you see mee dye, 
For servynge loyally mye kynge, 

Mye kynge most ryghtfullie. Zi^ 

' As longe as Edwarde rules thys land, 

Ne quiet you wylle knowe : 
Your sonnes and husbandes shalle bc^ 
slayne 

And brookes wythe bloude shall flowe. 360 

' You leave youre goode and lawfulle kynge, 

Whenne ynne adversitye ; 
Lyke mee, untoe the true cause stycke, 

And for the true cause dye.' 364 

Thenne, hee, wyth preestes, uponne hys 
knees, 

A prayer to Godde dyd make, 
Beseechynge hym unto hymselfe 

Hys partynge soule to take. 368 

Thenne, kneelynge downe, hee layd hys 
hedde 

Most seemlie onne the blocke ; 
Whyche fromme hys bodie fayre at once 

The able heddes-manne stroke : 372 

And oute the bloude beganne to flowe. 
And rounde the scaffolde twyne; 

And teares, enow to washe 't awaie, 

Dydd flowe fromme each mann's eyne. 376 

The bloudie axe hys bodie fayre 

Ynnto foure parties cutte ; 
And ev'rye parte, and eke hys hedde, 

Uponne a pole was putte. 38c 

One parte dydd rotte onne Kynwulph-hylle 

One onne the mynster-tower. 
And one from off the castle-gate 

The crowen dydd devoure ; 384 

The other onne Seyncte Powle's goode gate, 

A dreery spectacle ; 
Hys hedde was plac'd onne the hyghe crosse, 

Ynne hyghe-streete most nobile. 388 



THOMAS CHATTERTGN 



395 



Thus was the ende of Bawdin's fate: 
Godde prosper longe oure kynge, 

And grante hce maye, vvyth Bawdin's soule, 
Ynne heav'n Godd's mercie synge ! 392 

(1772) 

From ^LLA: A TRAGYCAL ENTER- 
LUDE 

MYNSTRELLES SONGE 

O ! synge untoe mie roundelaie, 

O I droppe the brynie teare wythe mee, 

Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie, 

Lycke a reynynge ^ ryver bee ; 

Mie love ys dedde, s 

Gon to hys death-bedde, 
AI under the wyllowe tree, 

Blacke hys cryne ~ as the wyntere nyghte, 
Whyte hys rode ^ as the sommer snowe, 
Rodde hys face as the morynynge lyghte, 
Cale he lyes ynne the grave belowe; u 

Mie love ys dedde, 
Gon to hys death-bedde, 
Al under the wyllowe tree. 

Swote hys tyngue as the throstles note, 
Quycke ynn daunce as thoughte canne bee, 
Defte hys taboure, codgelle stote, 17 

O! hee lyes bie the wyllowe tree: 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Gonne to hys death-bedde, 20 

Alle under the wyllowe tree, 

Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wyngc. 
In the briered delle belowe; 
Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe syngg, 
To the nyghte-mares as heie goc ; 25 



^ Runnmg. 



2 Hair 



' Complexion, 



Mie love ys dedde, 

Gonne to hys death-bedde, 

Al under the wyllowe tree. 

See ! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie ; 
Whyterre ys mie true loves shroude; 3° 
Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie, 
Whyterre yanne the evenynge cloude; 

Mie love ys dedde, 

Gon to hys death-bedde, 

Al under the wyllowe tree. 35 

Heere, uponne mie true loves grave, 

Schalle the baren fleurs be layde, 

Nee one hallie Seyncte to save 

Al the celness of a mayde, 

Mie love ys dedde, 4o 

Gonne to hys death-bedde, 
Alle under the wyllowe tree, 

Wythe mie hondes File dente the brieres 

Rounde his hallie corse to gre, 

Ouphante fairie lyghte youre fyres, 45 

Heere mie boddie stylle schalle bee. 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Gon to hys death-bedde, 
Al under the wyllowe tree. 

Comme, wythe acorne-coppe & thorne, 
Drayne mie hartys blodde awaie; 5i 

Lyfe & all yttes goode I scorne, 
Daunce bie nete, or feaste by daie. 
Mie love ys dedde, 
Gon to hys death-bedde, 55 

Al under the wyllowe tree. 

Waterre wytches, crownede wythe reytes,* 
Bere mee to yer leathalle tyde. 
I die ; I comme ; mie true love waytes. 
Thos the damselle spake, and dyed. 60 

(1777) 

* Water-flags. 



THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771) 



The life of Gray was singularly devoid of external incident. The records of a few 
personal ties, a little travel, and a few scattering and reluctant publications, alone give 
liveliness to the 'noiseless tenor' of his sequestered studies. At Eton he was noted for 
'great delicacy and sometimes a too fastidious behavior,' but found sympathetic companions 
in Horace Walpole and Richard West. In 1734 he entered Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, and 
Boon became a pensioner at Peterhouse. He devoted himself to classical literature, history, 
and modern languages, taking no degree on account of his dislike to mathematics. In 1739, 
on Walpole's invitation, Gray accompanied him to the continent and with great pleasure 
and profit, spent two years in Italy and France. Many of his Latin poems were written 
abroad and soon after his return he made his first trials in English verse. The death of 
his friend West, in 1742, deeply affected him and called forth the first sonnet of importance 
since those of Milton. About the same time, he began ' the far-famed Elegy,' while visiting his 
mother at Stoke, near Windsor. None of his poems were published until several years 
afterward. He now settled again at Peterhouse and when fifteen years later, he removed 
to Pembroke Hall, he referred to the incident as ' a sort of era in a life so barren of events 
as mine.' He graduated as LL.B. in 1744, but never entered the law. He made voluminous 
notes and collections for a History of English Poetry which was never written. Toward 
the end of his life he was appointed Professor of Modern History at Cambridge, but gave 
no lectures. A dozen poems in English, none long, were all that he published during his 
lifetime, and the two dozen fragments and fugitive pieces since collected add little to his 
fame. 

By 1757 his reputation was such that he was offered, on the death of CoIIey Cibber, the 
poet laureateship ; but he declined to be ' rat catcher to his Majesty.' Doctor Johnson, 
who is grudging in his estimate of Gray's genius, quotes without disparagement a state- 
ment that 'Perhaps he was the most learned man in Europe.' Gray was a precursor of 
the great romanticists in his taste for picturesque landscape, and he kept pace with the 
antiquarian movements of his time which were preparing the romantic revival. His Letters, 
which are among the best in the language, reveal the variety and enthusiasm of his interests. 
They also reveal a shrinking and fastidious taste dashed with piquant, half-cynical humor 
and not a little scholastic intolerance, and they help us to understand how the man who could 
write so tender and exquisite a poem as the Elegy in a Country Churchyard should have 
written so little else. 



SONNET ON THE DEATH OF MR. 
RICHARD WEST 

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, 
And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden 
fire: 
The birds in vain their amorous descant 
join ; 
Or cheerful fields resume their green at- 
tire: 
These ears, alas ! for other notes repine ; 5 
A different object do these eyes require: 
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine; 
And in my breast the imperfect joys ex- 
pire. 
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, 
And new-born pleasure brings to happier 
men : ' o 



396 



The fields to all their wonted tribute bear*. 
To warm their little loves the birds com- 
plain : 
I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear. 
And weep the more, because I weep in 
vain. 

(1774) 



AN ODE 

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's holy Shade; 



HYMN TO ADVERSITY 



397 



And ye, that from the stately brow s 

Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers 

among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver- winding way. lo 

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, 

Ah, fields beloved in vain, 
Where once my careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales, that from ye blow, is 

A momentary bliss bestow, 

As waving fresh their gladsome wing. 
My weary soul they seem to sooth, 
And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 20 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace, 
Who foremost now delight to cleave ^g 

With pliant arm thy glassy wave? 

The captive linnet which enthrall? 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed. 

Or urge the flying ball ? 30 



While some on earnest business bent 

Their murmuring labors ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty: 
Some bold adventurers disdain : 

The limits of their little reign, 

And unknown regions dare descry: 
Still as they run they look behind, 
They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a fearful joy. ' 

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast: 
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever-new. 

And lively cheer of vigor born ; 
The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 

That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas, regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day: 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The Ministers of human fate, 

And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 



45 



50 



55 



Ah, shew them where in ambush stand 
To seize their prey the murth'rous band ! 
Ah, tell them, they are men 1 60 



These shall the fury Passions tear. 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

And Shame that skulks behind ; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth. 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth. 

That inly gnaws the secret heart. 
And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow's piercing dart. 



Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 

Then whirl the wretch from high. 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice. 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 
And hard Unkindness, altered eye, 

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 

Amid severest woe. 



6s 



70 



75 



80 



Lo, in the vale of years beneath 

A griesly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their Queen : 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 85 
That every laboring sinew strains. 

Those in the deeper vitals rage : 
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band. 
That numbs the soul with icy hand. 

And slow-consuming Age. 90 

To each his sufferings : all are men, 

Condemned alike to groan,. 
The tender for another's pain ; 

The unfeeling for his own. 
Yet ah ! why should they know their fate ? 9.? 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies. 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more ; vyhere ignorance is bliss, 

'T is folly to be virise. 'oo 

(1747) 

HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
Thou tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 

The bad affright, afflict the best! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain, S 

The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan 



398 



THOMAS GRAY 



With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and 
alone. 

When first thy sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, designed, i" 
To thee he gave the heavenly birth. 
And bade to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore : 
What sorrow vi^as, thou bad'st her 
know, 
And from her own she learned to melt at 
others' woe. iS 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless 
Joy, 
And leave us leisure to be good. 20 

Light they disperse, and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
By vain Prosperity received, 
To her they vow their truth, and are again 
believed. 

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed, 25 

Immersed in rapturous thought pro- 
found. 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye that loves the ground. 
Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
Warm Charity, the general friend, 30 

With Justice, to herself severe. 
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing 
tear. 

Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head. 
Dread goddess, lay thy chastening 
hand! ., 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 35 

Not circled with the vengeful band 
(As by the impious thou art seen) 
With thundering voice, and threatening 

mien, 
With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Pov- 
erty : 40 

Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear. 

Thy milder influence impart, 
Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound, my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive 45 

Teach me to love, and to forgive. 
Exact my own defects to scan. 
What others are to feel, and know myself a 
Man. 

(1753.) 



ELEGY 

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD 

The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to 
me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the 
sight, 5 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning 
flight. 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant 
folds; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon com- 
plain 10 
Of such, as wandering near her secret 
bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's 
shade. 
Where heaves the turf in many a moulder- 
ing heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, ^5 
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw- 
built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing 
horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their 
lowly bed. 20 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall 
burn. 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care: 
No children run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to 
share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 25 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has 

broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

How bowed the woods beneath their 

sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 30 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile. 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 



ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 



399 



The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er 
gave, 

Awaits alike the inevitable hour. 3S 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the 
fault, 
If Memory o'er their Tomb no Trophies 
raise. 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and 
fretted vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of 
praise. 40 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting 
breath ? 
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 
Or Flattery sooth the dull cold ear of 
Death ?- 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial 
fire ; 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have 
swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample 
page 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er un- 
roll; so 
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene. 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean 
bear: 
Full many a flower is born to blush un- 
seen, 55 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless 

breast 

The little Tyrant of his fields withstood; 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's 

blood. 60 

The applause of listening senates to com- 
mand, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 

And read their history in a nation's eyes. 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes 

confin'd ; 66 



Forbade to wade through slaughter to a 
throne, ' 

And shut the gates of mercy on man- 
kind, 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to 

hide, 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous 

shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 71 

With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble 

strife, 

Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 75 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their 

way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to pro- 
tect, 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculp- 
ture decked. 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 

Their name, their years, spelt by the un- 
lettered muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply : 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 85 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful 
day. 
Nor cast one longing lingering look be- 
hind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul re- 
lies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature 
cries, 91 

Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. 

For thee, who mindful of the unhonoured 

Dead 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 9S 
Some kindred Spirit shall inquire thy fate. 

Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 
' Oft have we seen him at the peep of 
dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



400 



THOMAS GRAY 



'There at the foot of yonder noddnig 

bfeech 101 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so 

high, 

His listless length at noontide would he 

stretch, 

And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

' Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 
scorn, los 

Muttering his wayward fancies he would 
rove, 
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one for- 
lorn. 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless 
love. 

' One morn I missed him on the customed 
hill. 
Along the heath and near his favorite 
tree; "o 

Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

Noi up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

' The next with dirges due in sad array 
Slow through the church-way path we saw 
him borne. 
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) 
the lay, _ "5 

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged 
thorn.' 



THE EPITAPH 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 

A Youth to Fortune and to Fame un- 

knoivn. 

Fair Science frowned not on his humble 

birth. 

And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sin- 
cere, J 21 
, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: 
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, 

He gained from Heaven {'twas all he 
wished) a friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 
Or draw his frailties from their dread 
abode 
{There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

(1751) 



THE PROGRESS OF POESY 

A PINDARIC ODE 
I 

Tlie Strophe 
Awake, .lEolian lyre, awake. 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings 
From Helicon's harmonious springs 
A thousand rills their mazy progress take: 
The laughing flowers, that round them blow. 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 6 
Now the rich stream of music winds along 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden 

reign : 
Now rolling down the steep amain, 10 

Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
The rocks, and nodding groves rebellow to 
the roar. 

The Antistrophe 
Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs. 
Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares, 'S 

And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War, 
Has curbed the fury of his car, 
And dropped his thirsty lance at thy com- 
mand. 
Perching on the sceptered hand 20 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king 
With ruflled plumes, and flagging wing: 
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie 
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of 
his eye. 

The Epode 
Thee the voice, the dance, obey, ^s 

Tempered to thy warbled lay. 
O'er Idalia's velvet-green 
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
On Cytherea's day 

With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
Frisking light in frolic measures; 3i 

Now pursuing, now retreating. 
Now in circling troops they meet : 
To brisk notes in cadence beating 
Glance their many-twinkling feet. 35 

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach 

declare: 
Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay , 
With arms sublime, that float upon the air, 
In gliding state she wins her easy way : 
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, 

move 40 

The bloom of young Desire, and purple light 

of Love. 



THE PROGRESS OF P0E3Y 



401 



II 

The Strophe 
Man's feeble race what Ills await, 
Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 
And Death, sad refuge from the storms of 

Fate ! 4S 

The fond complaint, my Song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly 

Muse? 
Night, and all her sickly dews, 
Her Specters wan, and Birds of boding cry, 
He gives to range the dreary sky; 51 

Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering 

shafts of war. 

The Antistrophe 
In climes beyond the solar road. 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built moun- 
tains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom s6 
To cheer the shivering Native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid. 
She deigns to hear the savage Youth re- 
peat 6a 
In loose numbers wildly sweet 
Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and dusky 

Loves. 
Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, 
Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
The unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's 
holy fiame. 65 

The Epode 
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep. 
Isles, that crown the ^gean deep, 
Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 
Or where Mseander's amber waves 
In lingering Labyrinths creep, 7° 

How do your tuneful Echo's languish, 
Mute, but to the voice of Anguish? 
Where each old poetic Mountain 
Inspiration breathed around : 
Every shade and hallowed Fountain 7S 

Murmured deep a solemn sound: 
Till the sad Nine in Greece's evil hour 
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant- Power, 
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 81 
They sought, O Albion ! next thy sea-en- 
circled coast. 



Ill 

The Strophe 
Far from the sun and summer-gale, 
In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, 
What time, where lucid Avon straj'ed, 85 
To Him the mighty Mother did unveil 
Her awful face: The dauntless Child 
Stretched forth his little arms, and smiled 
This pencil take (she said) whose colors 

clear 
Richly paint the vernal year: 90 

Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy ! 
This can unlock the gates of Joy; 
Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears. 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic 

Tears. 

The Antistrophe 
Nor second He, that rode sublime 9Z 

Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, 
The secrets of the Abyss to spy. 
He passed the flaming bounds of Place and 

Time : 
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, 
Where Angels tremble, while they gaze, Joo 
He saw; but blasted with excess of light. 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous 

car. 
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 
Two Coursers of ethereal race, 105 

With necks in thunder clothed, and long- 
resounding pace. 

The Epode 
Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er 
Scatters from her pictured urn 
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 

But ah! 'tis heard no more m 

O Lyre divine, what daring Spirit 

Wakes thee now? though he inherit 

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion. 

That the Theban Eagle bear "S 

Sailing with supreme dominion 

Through the azure deep of air: 

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray 

With orient hues, unborrowed of the Sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant 

way 121 

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above 

the Great. 

(I7S7) 



402 



THOMAS GRAY 



THE BARD 

A PINDARIC ODE 
I 

The Strophe 
'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! 
Confusion on thy banners wait, 
Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing 
They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm, nor Hauberk's twisted mail, s 

Nor even thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears. 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's 

tears ! ' 
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested 

pride 
Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay. 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy 

side ~ II 

He wound with toilsome march his long 

array. 
Stout Gloster stood aghast in speechless 

trance; 
To arms ! cried Mortimer, and couched his 

quivering lance. 

The Antistrophe 
On a rock, whose haughty brow i5 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. 
Robed in the sable garb of woe. 
With haggard eyes the Poet stood 
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair 
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troubled 
air), 20 

And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's 

fire, 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: 
' Hark, how each giant oak, and desert 
cave, ' 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they 
wave, -25 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs 

breathe ; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llew- 
ellyn's lay. 

The Epode 
' Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 
That hushed the stormy main ; 3o 

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : 
Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud- 
topped head. 
On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, 35 



Smeared with gore, and ghastly pale: 
Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; 
The famished Eagle screams, and passes by. 
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my 

heart, 41 

Ye died amidst your dying country's 

cries — 
No more I weep. They do not sleep. 
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 
I see them sit, they linger yet, 4S 

Avengers of their native land: 
With me in dreadful harmony they join. 
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of 

thy line : — 



n 



The Strophe 
' Weave the warp, and weave the woof. 

The winding sheet of Edward's race. 5< 

Give ample room, and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 

Mark the year, and mark the night, 

When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

The shrieks of death, through Berkley's 
roofs that ring, 55 

Shrieks of an agonizing King! 

She- Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, 

That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled 
Mate, 

From thee be born, who o'er thy country 
hangs 

The scourge of Heav'n. What Terrors 
round him wait ! 60 

Amazement in his van, with Flight com- 
bined, 

And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude be- 
hind. 

The Antistrophe 
' Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, 
Low on his funeral couch he lies ! 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 65 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 

Is the sable Warrior fled? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the 

Dead. 
The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were 

born ? 
Gone to salute the rising Morn. 7o 

Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr 

blows. 
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes; 
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the 

heliu; 



THE FATAL SISTERS 



403 



Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's 
sway, 75 

That, hushed in grim repose, expects his 
evening-prey. 

The Epode 

Fill high the sparkling bowl, 
The rich repast prepare; 
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the 

feast. 
Close by the regal chair 80 

Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. 

Heard ye the din of battle bray, 
Lance to lance, and horse to horse? 
Long Years of havoc urge their destined 

course, ^S 

And through the kindred squadrons mow 

their way. 
Ye Towers of Julius, London's lasting 

shame. 
With many a foul and midnight murther 

fed, 
Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's 

fame, 
And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. 90 
Above, below, the rose of snow, 
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: 
The bristled Boar in infant-gore 
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed ; 

loom ~ 95 j 

Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify 

his doom. 



in 

The Strophe 

* Edward, lo ! to sudden fate 
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun) 
Half of thy heart we consecrate. 
(The web is wove. The work is done.)' — 
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn loi 

Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn! 
In yon bright track, that fires the western 

skies. 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh ! what solemn scenes on Snow- 
don's height 105 
Descending slow their glittering skirts un- 
roll? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 
Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. 
All-hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Issue, 
hail! no 



The Aniisfrophe 
' Girt with many a baron bold 

Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 

And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old 

In bearded majesty, appear. 

In the midst a Form divine! ns. 

Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line; 

Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face. 

Attempered sweet to virgin -grace. 

What strings symphonious tremble in the 
air, 

What strains of vocal transport round her 
play! 120 

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 

Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she 
sings. 

Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-col- 
ored wings. 

The Epode 
' The verse adorn again 125 

Fierce War, and faithful Love, 
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. 
In buskined measures move 
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, 
With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing 
breast. 130 

A Voice, as of the Cherub-Choir, 
Gales from blooming Eden bear; 
And distant warblings lessen on my ear, 
That lost in long futurity expire. 
Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon san- 
guine cloud, 135 
Raised by thy breath, has quenched the Orb 

of day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, 
And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 

Enough for me: With joy I see 
The different doom our Fates assign. 140 

Be thine Despair, and sceptered Care, 
To triumph, and to die, are mine.' — 
He spoke, and headlong from the moun- 
tain's height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to end- 
less night. 

(1757) 



THE FATAL SISTERS 

AN OD-E 
FROM THE NORSE TONGUE 

Now the storm begins to lower, 
(Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) 
Iron-sleet of arrowy shower 
Hurtles in the darkened air. 



404 



THOMAS GRAY 



Glittering lances are the loom, 
Where the dusky warp we strain, 
Weaving many a soldier's doom, 
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. 

See the grisly texture grow, 
('Tis of human entrails made,) 
And the weights, that play below, 
Each a gasping warrior's head. 

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore. 
Shoot the trembling cords along. 
Sword, that once a monarch bore, 
Keep the tissue close and strong. 

Mista black, terrific maid, 
Sangrida, and Hilda see. 
Join the wayward work to aid : 
'T is the woof of victory. 

Ere the ruddy sun be set. 
Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, 
Blade with clattering buckler meet, 
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. 

(Weave the crimson web of war) 
Let us go, and let us fly. 
Where our friends the conflict share. 
Where they triumph, where they die. 

As the paths of fate we tread. 
Wading through the ensanguined field : 
Gondula, and Geira, spread 
O'er the youthful king your shield. 

We the reins to slaughter give, 
Ours to kill, and ours to spare : 



IS 



25 



Spite of danger he shall live. 35 

(Weave the crimson web of war.) 

They, whom once the desert-beach 
Pent within its bleak domain. 
Soon their ample sway shall stretch 
O'er the plenty of the plain. 40 

Low the dauntless earl is laid, 
Gored with many a gaping woimd : 
Fate demands a nobler head ; 
Soon a king shall bite the ground. 

Long his loss shall Eirin weep, 4S 

Ne'er again his likeness see ; 
Long her strains in sorrow steep. 
Strains of immortality! 

Horror covers all the heath, 
Clouds of carnage blot the sun. so 

Sisters, weave the web of death; 
Sisters, cease, the work is done. 

Hail the task, and hail the hands ! 
Songs of joy and triumph sing! 
Joy to the victorious bands ; SS 

Triumph to the younger king. 

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale. 
Learn the tenor of our song. 
Scotland, through each winding vale 
Far and wide the notes prolong. 60 

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed: 
Each her thundering falchion wield; 
Each bestride her sable steed. 
Hurry, hurry to the field. 

(1768) 



SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-84) 

Few personalities of famous men are so well-known to us as the personality of ' that great 
Cham of literature, Samuel Johnson.' The son of a poor Lichfield book-seller, Johnson had 
the advantages of the local grammar-school and a few poverty-stricken months at Pem- 
broke College, Oxford ; served for a time as usher in a boy's school ; married for true 
love's sake, a woman much his senior; and set up a private academy near his native city. 
This enterprise proving neither agreeable nor profitable, in his twenty-eighth year, with 
little in his uncouth person, his ponderous genius, or in the sturdy independence of his 
character, to recommend him to the rich and fortunate, Johnson had the hardihood to seek 
a living among the penurious publishers and starving hack writers of London. For nearly 
a quarter of a century, he earned a precarious subsistence by huge ' odd jobs ' of literature 
which now have little interest except as a part of his biography. The greatest of these, his 
Dictionary of the English Language, was published in 1755, after seven years of continuous 
labor. During a part of this time he had supported himself by writing:: The Rambler 
(1750-52), and, in ensuing years. The Idler (1759-GO) and Rasselas (1759) helped to 
defray expenses while he was preparing his edition of Shakspere (1765). He was now 
famous. A pension of three hundred pounds, granted by government in 1762, had relieved 
him from the pressure of necessity. Thereafter he wrote but little, and his social talents 
expanded. In 1764, he joined with Sir Joshua Reynolds in founding the renowned Literary 
Club which had the good fortune to gather to its convivial meetings such men as Burke, 
Goldsmith, Gibbon,. Garrick, Adam Smith, the two Wartons, Bishop Percy of ballad 
fame, and many others whose names are still remembered. The previous year, Boswell 
had made his acquaintance and had begun to gather materials for the record of those 
' nights and suppers of the gods ' with which we are regaled in his Life. If we may trust 
Boswell's vivid and, apparently, accurate account, Johnson inspired in his comrades not 
only unusual affection, but a degree of respect which approximated reverence. His con- 
versation was witty, powerful, and varied and gives us a higher idea of his genius than 
anything which he wrote. His eccentricities both of behavior and of opinion were extraor- 
dinary ; but the prevailing impression left by Boswell's picture of his mind is one of 
massive common-sense, united with great depth and benignity of soul. 

Johnson's most important contribution to literature is his Lives of the Poets, which he 
undertook toward the end of his life (1779-81), when his powers were in their fullness 
and after years of polite conversation had favorably affected his style. They are the out- 
pouring of a capacious mind stored by a lifetime of reading, experience, and reflection. His 
judgments are often marred by his peculiar crochets of opinion or temper; but his sayings 
are almost always invigorating, for they are the abrupt utterances of an honest and strong 
man who knew much of the world and of letters. 



THE LIFE OF ADDISON Not to name the school or the masters 

of men illustrious for literature, is a 
Joseph Addison was born on the ist kind of historical fraud, by which honest 
of May, 1672, at Milston, of which his fame is injuriously diminished: I would 
father, Lancelot Addison, was then rec- 5 therefore trace him through the whole 
tor, near Ambrosebury, in Wiltshire, and, process of his education. In 1683, in the 
appearing weak and unlikely to live, he beginning of his twelfth year, his father, 
was christened the same day. After the being made Dean of Lichfield, naturally 
usual domestic education, which from the carried his family to his new residence, 
character of the father may be reason- 10 and, I believe, placed him for some time, 
ably supposed to have given him strong probably not long, under Mr. Shaw, then 
impressions of piety, he was committed, to master of the school at Lichfield, father 
the care of Mr. Naish at Ambrosebury, of the late Dr. Peter Shaw. Of this in- 
and afterwards of Mr. Taylor at Salis- terval his biographers have given no ac- 
bury. 15 count, and I know it only from a story 

405 



4o6 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



of a ' barring-out,' told me, when I was a much purpose of repayment ;. but Addison, 
boy, by Andrew Corbet, of Shropshire, who seems to have had other notions of 
who had heard it from Mr. Pigot, his a hundred pounds, grew impatient of 
uncle. delay, and reclaimed his loan by an ex- 

The practice of ' barring-out ' was a 5 ecution. Steele felt with great sensibility 
savage license, practiced in many schools the obduracy of his creditor, but with 
to the end of the last century, by which emotions of sorrow rather than of anger, 
the boys, when the periodical vacation In 1687 he was entered into Queen's 

drew near, growing petulant at the ap- College in Oxford, where, in 1689, the 
proach of liberty, some days before the 10 accidental perusal of some Latin verses 
time of regular recess, took possession of gained him the patronage of Dr. Lan- 
the school, of which they barred the caster, afterwards Provost of Queen's 
doors, and bade their master defiance College; by whose recommendation he 
from the windows. It is not easy to was elected into Magdalen College as a 
suppose that on such occasions the mas- 15 demy, a term by which that society de- 
ter would do more than laugh; yet, if nominates those who are elsewhere called 
tradition may be credited, he often strug- scholars: young men who partake of the 
gled hard to force or, surprise the gar- founder's benefaction, and succeed in 
rison. The master, when Pigot was a their order to vacant fellowships. Here 
schoolboy, was ' barred out ' at Lichfield ; 20 he continued to cultivate poetry and 
and the whole operation, as he said, was criticism, and grew first eminent by his 
planned and conducted by Addison. Latin compositions, which are indeed en- 

To judge better of the probability of a titled to particular praise. He has not 
this story, I have inquired when he wasT confined himself to the imitation of any 
sent to the Chartreux; but, as he was p ancient author, but has formed his style 
not- one of those who enjoyed the found- i from the general language, such as a 
er's benefaction, there is no account^diligent perusal of the productions of dif- 
preserved of his admission. At the'T'ferent ages happened to supply. His 
school of the Chartreux, to which hc'^Latin compositions seem to have had 
was removed either from that of Salis- 30 much of his fondness, for he collected a 
bury or Lichfield, he pursued his juvenile second volume of the Miisae Anglicanae, 
studies under the care of Dr. Ellis, and perhaps for a convenient receptacle, in 
contracted that intimacy with Sir Richard which all his Latin pieces are inserted, 
Steele which their joint labors have so and where his poem on the Peace has 
effectually recorded. 35 the first place. He afterwards presented 

Of this memorable friendship the the collection to Boileau, who from that 
greater praise must be given to Steele, time ' conceived,' says Tickell, ' an opin- 
It is not hard to love those from whom ion of the English genius for poetry.' 
nothing can be feared; and Addison Nothing is better known of Boileau than 
never considered Steele as a rival ; but 40 that he had an injudicious and peevish 
Steele lived, as he confesses, under an contempt of modern Latin, and therefore 
habitual subjection to the predominating his profession of regard was probably the 
genius of Addison, whom he always men- effect of his civility rather than appro- 
tioned with reverence, and treated with bation. 
obsequiousness. 45 Three of his Latin poems are upon sub- 

Addison, who knew his own dignity, jects on which perhaps he would not have 
could not always forbear to show it, by ventured to have written in his o^yn Ian- 
playing a little upon his admirer; but guage: — The Battle of the Pigmies and 
he was in no danger of retort; his jests Cranes, The Barometer, and A Bowling- 
were endured without resistance or re- 5o green. When the matter is low or scanty, 
sentment. But the sneer of jocularity a dead language, in which nothing is 
was not the worst. -Steele, whose impru- mean because nothing is familiar, affords 
dence of generosity, or vanity of pro- great conveniences; and by the sonorous 
fusion, kept him always incurably neces- magnificence of Roman syllables, the 
sitous, upon some pressing exigence, in 55 ^^riter conceals penury of thought, and 
an evil hour, borrowed an hundred want of novelty, often from the reader 
pounds of his friend Drobably without and often from himself. 



I 



LIFE OF ADDISON 407 



In his twenty-second year he first In 1697 appeared his Latin verses on 

showed his power of English poetry by the Peace of Ryswick, which he dedicated 
some verses addressed to Dryden ; and to Montague, and which was afterwards 
soon afterwards published a translation called, by Smith, ' the best Latin poem 
of the greater part of the Fourth Georgia 5 since the Aeneid.' Praise must not be 
upon Bees; after which, says Dryden, too rigorously examined; but the per- 
' my latter swarm is hardly worth the formance cannot be denied to be vigorous 
hiving.' About the same time he com- and elegant. Having yet no public em- 
posed the arguments prefixed to the ployment, he obtained (in 1699) a pen- 
several books of Dryden's Virgil; and 10 sion of three hundred pounds a year, that 
produced an £^^03; on the Georgics, ju- he might be enabled to travel. He stayed 
venile, superficial, and uninstructive, a year at Blois, probably to learn the 
without much either of the scholar's French language ; and then proceeded in 
learning or the critic's penetration. His his journey to Italy, which he surveyed 
next paper of verses contained a char- 15 with the eyes of a poet. While he was 
acter of the principal English poets, in- traveling at leisure, he was far from be- 
scribed to Henry Sacheverell, who was ing idle: for he not only collected his ob- 
then, if not a poet, a writer of verses; servations on the country, but found 
as is shown by his version of a small time to write his Dialogues on Medals, 
part of Virgil's Geor^iCJ, pubhshed in the 20 and four acts of Cato.^ Such, at least, 
Miscellanies; and a Latin encomium on is the relation of Tickell. Perhaps he 
Queen Mary, in the Musae Anglicanae. only collected his materials and formed 
These verses exhibit all the fondness of his plan. Whatever were his other em- 
friendship; but, on one side or the other, ployments in Italy, he there wrote the 
friendship was afterwards too weak for 25 letter to Lord Halifax which is justly 
the malignity of faction. In this poem considered as the most elegant, if not the 
is a very confident and discriminative most sublime, of his poetical productions, 
character of Spenser, whose work he But in about two years he found it nec- 
had then never read; so little sometimes essary to hasten home; being, as Swift 
is criticism the effect of judgment. It is 30 informs us, distressed by indigence, and 
necessary to inform the reader that about compelled to become the tutor of a trav- 
this time he was introduced by Congreve eling squire, because his pension \i'as not 
to Montague, then chancellor of the ex- remitted, 

chequer: Addison was then learning the At his return he published his Travels, 

trade of a courtier, and subjoined Mon- 3? with a dedication to Lord Somers. As 
tague as a poetical name to those of Cow- his stay in foreign countries was short, 
ley and of Dryden. By the influence of his observations are such as might be 
Mr. Montague, concurring, according to supplied by a hasty view, and consist 
Tickell, with his natural modesty, he was chiefly in comparisons of the present 
diverted from his original design of en- 40 face of the country with the descriptions 
tering into holy orders. Montague al- left us by the Roman poets, from whom 
leged the corruption of men who engaged he made preparatory collections, though 
in civil employments without liberal ed- he might have spared the trouble had he 
ucation ; and declared that, though he was known that such collections had been 
represented as an enemy to the church, 45 made twice before by Italian authors. 
he would never do it any injury but by The most amusing passage of his book 

withholding Addison from it. is his account of the minute republic of 

Soon after (1695) he wrote a poem San Marino; of many parts it is not a 
to King William, with a riming intro- very severe censure to say that they 
duction addressed to Lord Somers. King 50 might have been written at home. His 
William had no regard to elegance or elegance of language, and variegation of 
literature; his study was only war; yet prose and verse, however, gain upon the 
by a choice of ministers, whose disposi- reader; and the book, though awhile neg- 
tion was very different from his own, he lected, became in time so much the fa- 
procured, without intention, a very lib- 55 vorite of the public that before it was 
eral patronage to poetry. Addison was reprinted it rose to five times its price, 
caressed both by Somers and Montague. When he returned to England (in 



4o8 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



1702), with a meanness of appearance somewhat advanced by The Tender Hus- 
which gave testimony of the difficulties to band, a comedy which Steele dedicated 
which he had been reduced, he found to him, with a confession that he owed 
his old patrons out of power, and was to him several of the most successful 
therefore, for a time, at full leisure for 5 scenes. To this play Addison supplied 
the cultivation of his mind; and a mind a prologue. 

so cultivated gives reason to believe that When the Marquis of Wharton was 

little time was lost. But he remained appointed lord lieutenant of Ireland, Ad- 

not long neglected or useless. The vie- dison attended him as his secretary; and 

tory at Blenheim (1704) spread triumph 10 was made keeper of the records, in Bir- 

and confidence over the nation; and Lord mingham's tower, with a salary of three 

-»r-Godolphin, lamenting to Lord Halifax hundred pounds a year. The office was 

,/|\that it had not been celebrated in a man- little more than nominal, and the salary 

j ner equal to the subject, desired him to was augmented for his accommodation. 

' propose it to some better poet. Halifax 15 Interest and faction allow little to the 

: told him that there was no encourage- operation of particular dispositions or 

j ment for genius; that worthless men private opinions. Two men of personal 

I were unprofitably enriched with public characters more opposite than those of 

money, without any care to find or employ Wharton and Addison could not easily be 

' those whose appearance might do honor 20 brought together. Wharton was impious, 

to their country. To this Godolphin re- profligate, and shameless; without regard, 

plied that such abuses should in time be or appearance of regard, to right and 

rectified; and that, if a man could be wrong. Whatever is contrary to this 

found capable of the task then proposed, may be said of Addison; but as agents 

he should not want an ample recom- 25 of a party they were connected, and how 

^„_,.pense. Halifax then named Addison, they adjusted their other sentiments we 

but required that the treasurer should cannot know. 

apply to him in his own person. Go- Addison, must, however, not be too 

dolphin sent the message by Mr. Boyle, hastily condemned. It is not necessary 
afterwards Lord Carlton; and Addison, 30 to refuse benefits from a bad man when 
having undertaken the work, com- the acceptance implies no approbation of 
municated it to the treasury while it was his crimes; nor has the subordinate officer 
yet advanced no farther than the simile any obligation to examine the opinions 
of the angel, and was immediately re- or conduct of those under whom he acts, 
warded by succeeding Mr. Locke in the 35 except that he may not be made the in- 
place of commissioner of appeals. strument of wickedness. It is reasonable 

In the following year he was at Han- to suppose that Addison counteracted, as 
over with Lord Halifax: and the year far as he was able, the malignant and 
after he was made under secretary of blasting influence of the lieutenant; and 
state, first to Sir Charles Hedges, and 40 that at least by his intervention some 
in a few months more to the Earl of good was done, and some mischief pre- 
Sunderland. About this time the prev- vented. When he was in office he made 
alent taste for Italian operas inclined him a law to himself, as Swift has recorded, 
to try what would be the effect of a never to remit his regular fees in civility 
musical drama in our own language. He 45 to his friends : * for,' said he, * I may 
therefore wrote the opera of Rosamond, have a hundred friends; and if my fee 
which, when exhibited on the stage, was be two guineas, I shall, by relinquishing 
either hissed or neglected; but, trusting my right, lose two hundred guineas, and 
that the readers would do him more .jus- no friend gain more than two; there is 
tice, he published it with an inscription 50 therefore no proportion between the good 
to the Duchess of Marlborough — a imparted and the evil suffered.' He was 
woman without skill, or pretensions to in Ireland when Steele, without any com- 
skill, in poetry or literature. His dedica- munication of his design, began the pub- 
tion was therefore an instance of servile lication of The Toiler; but he was not 
absurdity, to be exceeded only by Joshua 55 long concealed; by inserting a remark on 
/ Barnes's dedication of a Greek Anacreon Virgil which Addison had given him he 
to the Duke. His reputation had been discovered himself. It is, indeed, not 



i 



LIFE OF ADDISON 409 



easy for any man to write upon literature than criminal, and remove those griev- 
or common life so as not to make himself ances which, if they produce no lasting 
known to those with whom he familiarly calamities, impress hourly vexation, was 
converses, and who are acquainted v.'ith first attempted by Casa in his book of 
his track of study, his favorite topic, his 5 Manners, and Castiglione in his Courtier; 
peculiar notions, and his habitual phrases, two books yet celebrated in Italy for 

If Steele desired to write in secret, he purity and elegance, and which, if they 
was not lucky; a single month detected are now less read, are neglected only be- 
him. His first Toiler was published cause they have effected that reforma- 
April 22 (1709); and Addison's contri- 10 tion which their authors intended, and 
bution appeared May 26. Tickell ob- their precepts now are no longer wanted, 
serves that The Tatler began and was Their usefulness to the age in which they 
concluded without his concurrence. This were written is sufficiently attested by the 
is doubtless literally true; but the work translations which almost all the nations 
did not suffer much by his unconscious- 15 of Europe were in haste to obtain. 
ness of its^commencement, or his absence This species of instruction was con- 

st its cessation; for he continued his as- tinned, and perhaps advanced, by the 
sistance to December 23, and the paper French; among wham La Bruyere's Man- 
stopped on January 2, 1710-11. He did ners of the Age (though, as Boileau re- 
not distinguish his pieces by any signa- 20 marked, it is written without connection) 
ture; and I know not whether his name certainly deserves great praise for liveli- 
was not kept secret till the papers were ness of description and justness of ob- 
collected into volumes. servation. 

To The Tatler, in about two months, Before The Tatler and Spectator, if 

succeeded The Spectator: a series of es- 25 the writers for the theater are excepted, 
says of the same kind,' but written with England had no masters of common life, 
less levity, upon a more regular plan, and No writers had yet undertaken to reform 
published daily. Such an undertaking either the savageness of neglect, or the 
showed the writers not to distrust their impertinence of civility; to show when to 
own copiousness of materials or facility 3° speak, or to be silent; how to refuse, or 
of composition, and their performance how to comply. We had many books to 
justified their confidence. They found, teach us our more important duties, and 
however, in their progress many auxil- to settle opinions in philosophy or poli- 
iaries. To attempt a single paper was tics; but an arbiter elegantiarum, a judge 
no terrifying labor ; many pieces were 35 of propriety, was yet wanting, who should 
offered, and many were received. survey the track of daily conversation, 

Addison had enough of the zeal of and free it from thorns and prickles, 
party ; but Steele had at that time almost which tease the passer, though they do 
nothing else. The Spectator, in one of not wound him. For this purpose noth- 
the first papers, showed the political 40 ing is so proper as the frequent publica- 
tenets of its authors; but a resolution was tion of short papers, which we read, not 
soon taken of courting general approba- as study, but amusement. If the subject 
tion by general topics, and subjects on be slight, the treatise likewise is short, 
which faction had produced no diversity The busy may find time, and the idle may 
of sentiments; such as literature, moral- ^5 find patience. This mode of conveying 
ity, and familiar life. To this practice cheap and easy knowledge began among 
they adhered with few deviations. The us in the civil war, when it was much 
ardor of Steele once broke out in praise the interest of either party to raise and 
of Marlborough; and when Dr. Fleet- fix the prejudices of the people. At that 
wood prefixed to some sermons a preface ^° time appeared Mercurius Aulicus, Mer- 
overflowing with whiggish opinions, that curivis Rusticus, and Mercurius Civicits. 
it might be read by the Queen, it was It is said that when any title grew pop- 
reprinted in The Spectator. ular, it was stolen by the antagonist, who 

To teach the minuter decencies and by this stratagem conveyed his notions to 
inferior duties, to regulate the practice ^^ those who would not have received him 
of daily conversation, to correct those had he not worn the appearance of a 
depravities, which are rather ridiculous friend. The tumult of those unhappy 



410 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



days left scarcely any man leisure to and sometimes towered far above theii 
treasure up occasional compositions; and predecessors; and taught, with great just- 
so much were they neglected that a com- ness of argument and dignity of language, 
olete collection is nowhere to be found. the most important duties and sublime 

These Mercuries were succeeded by S truths. All these topics were happily 
L'Estrange's Observator ; and that by Les- varied with elegant fictions and refined 
ley's Rehearsal, and perhaps by others; allegories, and illuminated with different 
but hitherto nothing had been conveyed changes of style and felicities of inven- 
lo the people, in this commodious man- tion. 

ner, but controversy relating to the lo It is recorded by Budgell, that of the 
church or state; of which they taught characters feigned or exhibited in The 
many to talk, whom they could not teach Spectator, the favorite of Addison was 
to judge. Sir Roger de Coverley, of whom he had 

It has been suggested that the Royal formed a very delicate and discriminated 
Society was instituted soon after the '5 idea, which he would not suffer to be 
Restoration to divert the attention of the violated; and therefore when Steele had 
people from public discontent. The Tat- shown him innocently picking up a girl 
ler and Spectator had. the same tendency; in the Temple, and taking her to a tavern, 
they were published at a time when two he drew upon himself so much of his 
parties — loud, restless, and violent, each 20 friend's indignation that he was forced to 
with plausible declarations, and each per- appease him by a promise of forbearing 
haps without any distinct termination of Sir Roger for the time to come, 
its views — were agitating the nation; to The reason which induced Cervantes to 

minds heated with political contest they bring his hero to the grave, para mi sola 
supplied cooler and more inoffensive re- ^5 nacio Don Quixote, y yo para el [for me 
flections; and it is said by Addison, in a alone was Don Quixote born, and I for 
subsequent work, that they had a per- him], made Addison declare, with undue 
ceptible influence upon the conversation vehemence of expression, that he would 
of" that time, and taught the frolic and kill Sir Roger ; being of opinion that 
the gay to unite merriment with decency 30 they were born for one another, and that 
■ — an effect which they can never wholly any other hand would do him wrong, 
lose while they continue to be among It may be doubted whether Addison 

the first books by which both sexes ever filled up his original delineation, 
are initiated in the elegances of knowl- He describes his knight as having his 
edge. 35 imagination somewhat warped; but of 

The Tatter and Spectator adjusted, like this perversion he has made very little 
Casa, the unsettled practice of daily in- use. The irregularities in Sir Roger's 
tercourse by propriety and politeness; conduct seem not so much the effects of 
and, like La Bruyere, exhibited the char- a mind deviating from the beaten track of 
acters and manners of the age. The 40 life, by the perpetual pressure of some 
personages introduced in these papers overwhelming idea, as of habitual rus- 
were not merely ideal; they were then ticity, and that negligence which solitary 
known, and conspicuous in various sta- grandeur naturally generates. The vari- 
lions. Of The Toiler that is told by able weather of the mind, the flying 
Steele in his last paper ; and of The 45 vapors of incipient madness, which from 
Spectator by Budgell in the preface to time to time cloud reason without eclips- 
Theophrastus, a book which Addison has ing it, it requires so much nicety to ex- 
recommended, and which he was sus- hibit that Addison seems to have been 
pected to have revised, if he did not write deterred from prosecuting his own de- 
it. Of those portraits which may be sup- 5° sign. 

posed to be sometimes em|;)ellished, and To Sir Roger, who, as a country 

sometimes aggravated, the originals are gentleman, appears to be a tory, or, as it 
now partly known, and partly forgotten. is gently expressed, an adherent to. the 
But to say that they united the plans of landed interest, is opposed Sir Andrew 
two or three eminent writers, is to give 55 Freeport, a new man, a wealthy mer- 
them but a small part of their due praise; chant, zealous for the moneyed interest, 
thev superadded literature and criticism, and a whig. Of this contrariety of 



LIFE OF ADDISON 411 



opinions, it is probable more conse- courage and his zeal by finishing his de- 
quences were at first intended than could sign. 

be produced when the resolution was To resume his work he seemed par- 

taken to exclude party from the paper. versely and unaccountably unwilling; and 
Sir Andrew does but little, and that little 5 by a request, which perhaps he wished to 
seems not to have pleased Addison, who, be denied, desired Mr. Hughes to add a 
when he dismissed him from the club, fifth act. Hughes supposed him serious ; 
changed his opinions. Steele had made and, undertaking the supplement, brought 
him, in the true spirit of unfeeling com- in a few days some scenes for his ex- 
merce, declare that he 'would not build loamination; but he had in the meantime 
an hospital for idle people'; but at last gone to work himself, and produced half 
he buys land, settles in the country, and an act, which he afterwards completed, 
builds, not a manufactory, but an hospital but with b-revity irregularly dispropor- 
for twelve old husbandmen — for men tionate to the foregoing parts, like a task 
with whom a merchant has little ac- 15 performed with reluctance and hurried to 
quaintance, and whom he commonly con- its conclusion, 
siders with little kindness. It may yet be doubted whether Cato 

Of essays thus elegant, thus instructive, was made public by any change of the 
and thus commodiously distributed, it is author's purpose ; for Dennis charged him 
natural to suppose the approbation gen- 20 with raising prejudices in his own favor 
eral, and the sale numerous. I once by false positions of preparatory criti- 
heard it observed that the sale may be cism, and with ' poisoning the town ' by 
calculated by the product of the tax, re- contradicting in The Spectator the estab- 
lated in the last number to produce more lished rule of poetical justice, because his 
than twenty pounds a week, and there- ^5 own hero, with all his virtues, was to fall 
fore stated at one-and-twenty pounds, or before a tyrant. The fact is certain; the 
three pounds ten shillings a day : this, at motives we must guess. 
a halfpenny a paper, will give sixteen Addison was, I believe, sufficiently dis- 

hundred and eighty for the daily number, posed to bar all avenues against all dan- 
This sale is not great; yet this, if Swift soger. When Pope brought him the pro- 
be credited, was likely to grow less ; for logue, which is properly accommodated 
he declares that The Spectator, whom he to the play, there were these words, 
ridicules for his endless mention of the ' Britains, arise ! be worth like this ap- 
fair sex, had before his recess wearied proved ' ; meaning nothing more than 
his readers. 35 — Britons, erect and exalt yourselves to 

The next year (1713), in which Cato the approbation of public virtue. Ad- 
came upon the stage, was the grand dison was frighted, lest he should be 
climacteric of Addison's reputation, thought a promoter of insurrection, and 
Upon the death of Cato he had, as is said, the line was liquidated to ' Britons, at- 
planned a tragedy in the time of his 40 tend.' 

travels, and had for several years the Now ' heavily in clouds came on the 

four first acts finished, which were shown day, the great, the important day,' when 
to such as were likely to spread their Addison was to stand the hazard of the 
admiration. They were seen by Pope theater. That there might, however, be 
and by Gibber, who relates that Steele, 45 left as little hazard as was possible, on 
when he took back the copy, told him, the first night Steele, as himself relates, 
in the despicable cant of literary modesty, undertook to pack an audience. ' This,' 
that, whatever spirit his friend had shown says Pope, ' had been tried for the first 
in the composition, he doubted whether time in favor of The Distressed Mother; 
he would have courage sufficient to ex- So and was now, with more efficacy, prac- 
pose it to the censure of a British audi- tised for Cato.' The danger was soon 
ence. The time, however, was now come over. The whole nation was at that time 
when those who affected to think liberty on fire with faction. The whigs ap- 
in danger affected likewise to think that plauded every line in which liberty was 
a stage-play might preserve it; and Addi- 55 mentioned, as a satire on the tories ; 
son was importuned, in the name of the and the tories echoed every clap, to 
tutelary deities of Britain, to show his show that the satire was unfelt. The 



412 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



story of Bolingbroke is well known; he officiousness to himself, informed Dennis 
called Booth to his box, and gave him by Steele that he was sorry for the insult ; 
fifty guineas for defending the cause of and that, whenever he should think fit 
liberty so well against a perpetual die- to answer his remarks, he would do it 
tator. ' The whigs,' says Pope, * design 5 in a manner to which nothing could be 
a second present, when they can accom- objected. 

pany it with as good a sentence,' The greatest weakness of the play is 

The play, supported thus by the emula- in the scenes of love, which are said by 
lion of factious praise, was acted night Pope to have been added to the original 
after night for a longer time than, I be- lo plan upon a subsequent review, in com- 
lieve, the public had allowed to any pliance with the popular practice of the 
drama before ; and the author, as Mrs. stage. Such an authority it is hard to 
Porter long afterwards related, wandered reject; yet the love is so intimately 
through the whole exhibition behind the mingled with the whole action that it 
scenes with restless and unappeasable 15 cannot easily be thought extrinsic and 
solicitude. When it was printed, notice adventitious; for if it were taken away, 
was given that the Queen would be what would be left? Or how were the 
pleased if it was dedicated to her; 'but four acts filled in the first draft? At 
as he had designed that compliment else- the publication the wits seemed proud 
where, he found himself obliged,' says 20 to pay their attendance with encomiastic 
Tickell, ' by his duty on the one hand, verses. The best are from an unknown 
and his honor on the other, to send it hand, which will perhaps lose somewhat 
into the world without any dedication.* of their praise when the author is known 

Human happiness has always its abate- to be Jeffreys, 
ments ; the brightest sunshine of success *^ Cato had yet other honors. It was 
is not without a cloud. No sooner was censured as a party-play by a scholar of 
Cato offered to the reader than it was Oxford ; and defended in a favorable ex- 
attacked by the acute malignity of Den- amination by Dr. Sewel. It was trans- 
ni's with all the violence of angry criti- lated by Salvini into Italian, and acted 
cism. Dennis, though equally zealous, 30 at Florence ; and by the Jesuits of St. 
and probably by his temper more furious Omer's into Latin, and played by their 
than Addison, for what they called pupils. Of this version a copy was sent 
liberty, and though a flatterer of the to Mr. Addison : it is to be wished that 
Whig Ministry, could not sit quiet at a it could be found, for the sake of corn- 
successful play ; but was eager to tell 35 paring their version of the soliloquy with 
friends and enemies that they had mis- that of Bland. 

placed their admirations. The world was A tragedy was written on the same 
too stubborn for instruction; with the subject by Des Champs, a French poet, 
fate of the censurer of Corneille's Cid, which was translated with a criticism on 
his animadversions showed his anger 40 the English play. But the translator and 
without effect, and Cato continued to be the critic are now forgotten, 
praised. Dennis lived on unanswered, and there- 

Pope had now an opportunity of court- fore little read. Addison knew the policy 
ing the friendship of Addison by vilify- of literature too well to make his enemy 
ing his old enemy, and could give resent- 45 important by drawing the attention of the 
ment its full play without appearing to public upon a criticism which, though 
revenge himself. He therefore published sometimes intemperate, was often irref- 
A Narrative of the Madness of John Den- ragable. 

nis: a performance which left the ob- While Cato was upon the stage, an- 
jections to the play in their full force, 5o other daily paper, called The Guardian, 
and therefore discovered more desire of was published by Steele. To this Addi- 
vexing the critic than of defending the son gave great assistance, whether occa- 
poet. sionally or by previous engagement is not 

Addison, who was no stranger to the known. The character of Guardian was 
world, probably saw the selfishness of 55 too narrow and too serious : it might 
Pope's friendship ; and, resolving that properly enough admit both the duties 
he should have the consequences of his and the decencies of life, but seemed not 



LIFE OF ADDISON 413 



to include literary speculations, and was moted. That it should have been ill 
in some degree violated by merriment received would raise wonder, did we not 
and burlesque. What had the Guardian daily see the capricious distribution of 
of the Lizards to do with clubs of tall or theatrical praise. 

of little men, with nests of ants, or with 5 He was not all this time an indifferent 
Strada's prolusions? Of this paper noth- spectator of public affairs. He wrote, as 
ing is necessary to be said but that it different exigences required (in 1707). 
found many contributors, and that it was The present State of the War, and the 
a continuation of The Spectator, with the Necessity of an Augmentation ; which, 
same elegance and the same variety, till 10 however judicious, being written on 
some unlucky sparkle from a tory paper temporary topics, and exhibiting no pe- 
set Steele's poHtics on fire, and wit at culiar powers, laid hold on no attention, 
once blazed into faction. He was soon and has naturally sunk by its own weight 
too hot for neutral topics, and quitted into neglect. This cannot be said of the 
The Guardian to write The Englishman. 15 few papers entitled The Whig Examiner, 

The papers of Addison are marked in in which is employed all the force of gay 
The Spectator by one of the letters in malevolence and humorous satire. Of 
the name of Clio, and in The Guardian this paper, which just appeared and ex- 
by a hand; whether it was, as Tickell pired. Swift remarks, with exultation, that 
pretends to think, that he was unwilling 20 ' it is now down among the dead men.' 
to usurp the praise of others, or as He might well rejoice at the death of that 
Steele, with far greater likelihood, in- which he could not have killed. Every 
sinuates, that he could not without dis- reader of every party, since personal 
content impart to others any of his own. malice is past, and the papers which once 
I have heard that his avidity did not ^5 inflamed the nation are read only as 
satisfy itself with the air of renown, but effusions of wit, must wish for more of 
that with great eagerness he laid hold on the Whig Examiners; for on no occa- 
his proportion of the profits. sion was the genius of Addison more 

Many of these papers were written vigorously exerted, and on none did the 
with powers truly comic, with nice dis- 3o superiority of his powers more evidently 
crimination of characters, and accurate appear. His Trial of Count Tariff, writ- 
observation of natural or accidental devi- ten to expose the treaty of commerce with 
ations from propriety; but it was not France, lived no longer than the question 
supposed that he had tried a comedy on that produced it. 

the stage, till Steele after his death de- 35 Not long afterwards an attempt was 
clared him the author of The Drummer, made to revive The Spectator, at a time 
This, however, Steele did not know to be indeed by no means favorable to litera- 
true by any direct testimony, for when ture, when the succession of a new family 
Addison put the play into his hands, he to the throne filled the nation with an- 
only told him it was the work of a 40 xiety, discord, and confusion ; and either 
* gentleman in the company,' and when the turbulence of the times, or the satiety 
it was received, as is confessed, with cold of the readers, put a stop to the publica- 
disapprobation, he was probably less tion after an experiment of eighty num- 
willing to claim it. Tickell omitted it bers, which were afterwards collected 
in his collection ; but the testimony of 4S into an eighth volume, perhaps more 
Steele, and the total silence of any other valuable than any of those that went be- 
claimant, has determined the public to fore it. Addison produced more than a 
assign it to Addison, and it is now printed fourth part; and the other contributors 
with his other poetry. Steele carried The are by no means unworthy of appearing 
Drummer to the play-house, and after- So as his associates. The time that had 
wards to the press, and sold the copy for passed during the suspension of The 
fifty guineas. Spectator, though it had not lessened his 

To the opinion of Steele may be added power of humor, seems to have increased 
the proof supplied by the play itself, of his disposition to seriousness : the pro- 
which the characters are such as Addi- 55 portion of his reiigious to his comic 
son would have delineated, and the tend- papers is greater than in the former 
ency such as Addison would have pro- series. 



414 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



The Spectator, from its re-commence- And Oldmixon delights to tell of some 
ment, was published only three times a alderman of London that he had more 
week; and no discriminative marks were money than the exiled princes; but that 
added to the papers. To Addison, Tickell which might be expected from Milton's 
has ascribed twenty-three. The Specta- 5 savageness, or Oldmixon's meanness, was 
tor had many contributors; and Steele, not suitable to the deliaacy of Addison, 
whose negligence kept him always in a Steele thought the humor of The Free- 

hurry, when it was his turn to furnish holder too nice and gentle for such noisy 
a paper, called loudly for the letters, of times, and is reported to have said that 
which Addison, whose materials were 10 the ministry made use of a lute, when 
more, made little use — having recourse they should have called for a trumpet, 
to sketches and hints, the product of his This year (1716) he married the 

former studies, which he now reviewed Countess Dowager of Warwick, whom he 
and completed : among these are named had solicited by a very long and anxious 
by Tickell the Essays on Wit, those on 15 courtship, perhaps with behavior not very 
the Pleasures of the Imagination, and the unlike that of Sir Roger to his disdain- 
Criticism on Milton. ful widow; and who, T am afraid, di- 

When the House of Hanover took verted herself often by playing with his 
possession of the throne, it was reason- passion. He is said to have first known 
able to expect that the zeal of Addison 20 her by becoming tutor to her son. ' He 
would be suitably rewarded. Before the formed,' said Tonson, ' the design of 
arrival of King George, he was made getting that lady from the time when 
secretary to the Regency, and was re- he was first recommended into the fam- 
quired by his office to send notice to Han- ily.' In what part of his life he obtained 
over that the Queen was dead, and that 25 the recommendation, or how long, and in 
the throne was vacant. To do this would what manner he lived in the family, I 
not have been difficult to any man but know not. His advances at first were 
Addison, who was so overwhelmed with certainly timorous, but grew bolder as 
the greatness of the event, and so dis- his reputation* and influence increased ; 
tracted by choice of expression, that the 30 till at last the lady was persuaded to 
lords, who could not wait for the niceties marry him, on terms much like those 
of criticism, called Mr. Southwell, a clerk on which a Turkish princess is espoused, 
in the House, and ordered him to de- to whom the Sultan is reported to pro- 
spatch the message. Southwell readily nounce, ' Daughter, I give thee this man 
told what was necessary in the common 35 for thy slave.' The marriage, if uncon- 
style of business, and valued himself upon tradicted report can be credited, made no 
having done what was too hard for Addi- addition to his happiness ; it neither found 
son. He was better qualified for The them nor made them equal. She always 
Freeholder, a paper which he published remembered her own rank, and thought 
twice a week, from December 23, 1715, to 40 herself entitled to treat with very little 
the middle of the next year. This was ceremony the tutor of her son. Rowe's 
undertaken in defense of the established ballad of The Despairing Shepherd is 
Government, sometimes with argument, said to have been written, either before 
and sometimes with mirth. In argument or after marriage, upon this memorable 
he had many equals; but his humor was 45 pair ; and it is certain that Addison has 
singular and matchless. Bigotry itself left behind him no encouragement for 
must be delighted with the Tory Fox- ambitious love. 

hunter. There are, however, some The year after (1717) he rose to his 

strokes less elegant and less decent; such highest elevation, being made secretary 
as the Pretender's Journal, in which one '^0 of state. For this employment he might 
topic of ridicule is his poverty. This be justly supposed qualified by long 
mode of abuse had been employed by practice of business, and by his regular 
Milton against King Charles II. ascent through other offices; but expecta- 

Jacoboei ^^^^ ^^ often disappointed ; it is univer- 

Centum exulantis viscera marsuppi regis. " sally confessed that he was unequal to 
[A hundred Jacobuses, dregs of the the duties of his place. In the House 

purse of an exiled king.] of Commons he could not speak, and 



LIFE OF ADDISON 415 



therefore was useless to the defense of son. It came too late to be of use, so I 
the government. ' In the office,' says inspected it but slightly, and remember 
Pope, ' he could not issue an order with- it indistinctly. I thought the passages too 
out losing his time in quest of fine ex- short. Addison, however, did not con- 
pressions.' What he gained in rank he 5 elude his life in peaceful studies, but re- 
lost in credit ; and finding by experience lapsed, when he was near his end, to a 
his own inability, was forced to solicit political dispute. 

his dismission, with a pension of fifteen It so happened that (1718-19) a con- 

hundred pounds a year. His friends pal- troversy was agitated with great vehe- 
liated this relinquishment, of which both 10 mence between those friends of long con- 
friends and enemies knew the true rea- tinuance, Addison and Steele. It may be 
son, with an account of declining health, asked, in the language of Homer, what 
and the necessity of recess and quiet, power or what cause could set them at 
He now returned to his vocation, and variance. The subject of their dispute 
began to plan literary occupations for his 15 was of great importance. The Earl of 
future life. He purposed a tragedy on Sunderland proposed an act called The 
the death of Socrates, a story of which, Peerage Bill; by which the number of 
as Tickell remarks, the basis is narrow, peers should be fixed, and the king re- 
and to which I know not how love could strained from any new creation of 
have been appended. There would, how- 20 nobility, unless when an old family 
ever, have been no want either of virtue should be extinct. To this the lords 
in the sentiments, 01 elegance in the would naturally agree ; and the king, who 
language. He engaged in a nobler work, was yet little acquainted with his own 
a Defense of the Christian Religion, of prerogative, and, as is now well known, 
which part was published after his death ; ^'' almost indifferent to the possessions of the 
and he designed to have made a new crown, had been persuaded to consent, 
poetical version of the Psalms. " The only difficulty was found among the 

These pious compositions Pope imputed commons, who were not likely to ap- 
to a selfish motive, upon the credit, as 'prove the perpetual exclusion of them- 
he owns, of Tonson ; who, having quar- 3o selves and their posterity. The bill, 
reled with Addison, and not loving him, therefore, was eagerly opposed, and, 
said that when he laid down the secre- among others, by Sir Robert Walpole, 
tary's office he intended to take orders whose speech was published, 
and obtain a bishopric; 'for,' said he. The lords might think their dignity 

' I always thought him a priest in his 35 diminished by improper advancements, 
heart.' and particularly by the introduction of 

That Pope should have thought this twelve new peers at once, to produce a 
conjecture of Tonson worth remem- majority of tories in the last reign: an 
brance, is a proof — but indeed, so far act of authority violent enough, yet cer- 
as I have found, the only proof — that 40 tainly legal, and by no means to be com- 
he retained some malignity from their pared with that contempt of national 
ancient rivalry. Tonson pretended but to right with which some time afterwards, 
guess it; no other mortal ever suspected by the instigation of whiggism, the corn- 
it; and Pope might have reflected that a mons, chosen by the people for three 
man who had been secretary of state in 45 years, chose themselves for seven. But, 
the ministry of Sunderland knew a nearer whatever might be the disposition of the 
way to a bishopric than by defending re- lords, the people had no wish to increase 
ligion or translating the Psalms. their power. The tendency of the bill, as 

It is related that he had once a design Steele observed in a letter to the Earl of 
to make an English Dictionary, and that 5° Oxford, was to introduce an aristocracy: 
he considered Dr. Tillotson as the writer for a majority in the House of Lords, so 
of highest authority. There was for- limited, would have been despotic and 
merly sent to me by Mr. Locker, clerk irresistible. 

of the Leathersellers' Company, who was To prevent this subversion of the an- 

eminent for curiosity and literature, a ^5 cient establishment, Steele, whose _ pen 
collection of examples selected from Til- readily seconded his political passions, 
lotson's works, as Locker said, by Addi- endeavored to alarm the nation by a 



4i6 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



pamphlet called The Plebeian. To this The delicate features of the mind, the 
an answer was published by Addison, nice discriminations of character, and the 
under the title of The Old Whig, in minute peculiarities of conduct, are soon 
which it is not discovered that Steele obliterated ; and it is surely better that 
was then known to be the advocate for 5 caprice, obstinacy, frolic, and folly, how- 
the commons. Steele replied by a second ever they might delight in the description. 
Plebeian; and, whether by ignorance or should be silently forgotten, than that, by 
by courtesy, confined himself to his ques- wanton merriment and unseasonable de- 
tion, without any personal notice of his tection, a pang should be given to a 
opponent. Nothing hitherto was com- 10 widow, a daughter, a brother, or a friend, 
mitted against the laws of friendship or As the process of these narratives is now 
proprieties of decency; but controverttsts bringing me among my contemporaries, I 
cannot long retain their kindness for each begin to feel myself ' walking upon ashes 
other. The Old Whig answered The under which the fire is not extinguished,' 
Plebeian, and could not forbear some 15 and coming to the time of which it will 
contempt of ' little Dicky, whose trade be proper rather to say ' nothing that is 
it was to write pamphlets.' Dicky, how- false, than all that is true.' 
ever, did not lose his settled veneration The end of this useful Hfe was now ap- 

for his friend, but contented himself with preaching. Addison had for some time 
quoting some lines of Cato, which were 2° been oppressed by shortness of breath, 
at once detection and reproof. The bill which was now aggravated by a dropsy; 
was laid aside during that session, and and, finding his danger pressing, he pre- 
Addison died before the next, in which pared to die comformably to his own 
its commitment was rejected by two hun- precepts and professions. During this 
dred and sixty-five to one hundred and ^s lingering decay, he sent, as Pope relates, 
seventy-seven. a message by the Earl of Warwick to 

Every reader surely must regret that Mr. Gay, desiring to see him. Gay, who 
these two illustrious friends, after so had not visited him for some time before, 
many years passed in confidence and en- obeyed the summons, and found himself 
dearment, in unity of interest, conform- 30 received with great kindness. The pur- 
ity of opinion, and fellowship of study, pose for which the interview had been 
should finally part in acrimonious opposi- solicited was then discovered. Addison 
tion. Such a controversy was belliim told him that he had injured him; but 
plusquam civile [worse than civil war], that, if he recovered, he would recom- 
as Lucan expresses it. Why could not 35 pense him. What the injury was he did 
faction find other advocates? But among not explain, nor did Gay ever know; but 
the uncertainties of the human state, we supposed that some preferment designed 
are doomed to number the instability of for him had, by Addison's intervention, 
friendship. Of this dispute I have little been withheld. 

knowledge but from the Biographia Bri- 40 Lord Warwick was a young man, of 
tannica. The Old Whig is not inserted very irregular life, and perhaps of loose 
in Addison's works; nor is it mentioned opinions. Addison, for whom he did not 
by Tickell in his Life; why it was want respect, had very diligently en- 
omitted, the biographers doubtless give deavored to reclaim him, but his argu- 
the true reason : the fact was too recent, 45 ments and expostulations had no. effect, 
and those who had been heated in the One experiment, however, remained to be 
contention were not yet cool. tried; when he found his life near its end. 

The necessity of complying with times, he directed the young lord to be called, 
and of sparing persons, is the great im- and when he desired with great tender- 
pediment of biography. History may be 50 ness to hear his last injunctions, told him, 
formed from permanent monuments and ' I have sent for you that you may see 
records; but lives can only be written how a Christian can die.' What effect 
from personal knowledge, which is grow- this awful scene had on the earl, I know 
ing every day less, and in a short time not; he likewise died himself in a short 
is lost for ever. What is known can 55 time. 

seldom be immediately told; and when it In Tickell's excellent Elegy on his 

might be told, it is no longer known. friend are these lines : — 



LIFE OF ADDISON 417 



He taught us how to live; and, oh! too died at forty-seven, after having not only 
high stood long in the highest rank of wit and 

The price of knowledge, taught us how to literature, but filled one of the most im- 
die — portant offices of state. 

5 The time in which he lived had reason 
in which he alludes, as he told Dr. to lament his obstinacy of silence ; ' for 
Young, to this moving interview. he was,' says Steele, ' above all men in 

Having given directions to Mr. Tickell that talent called humor, and enjoyed it 
for the publication of his works, and in such perfection that I have often re- 
dedicated them on his death-bed to his 10 fleeted, after a night spent with him apart 
friend Mr. Craggs, he died June 17, 1719, from all the w^orld, that I had had the 
at Holland House, leaving no child but pleasure of conversing with an intimate 
a daughter. acquaintance of Terence and Catullus, 

Of his virtue it is a sufficient testimony who had all their wit and nature, height- 
that the resentment of party has trar.s- 15 ened with humor more exquisite and 
mitted no charge of any crime. He ^vas delightful than any other man everpos- 
not one of those who are praised only sessed.' This is the fondness of a friend ; 
after death; for his merit was so gen- let us hear what is told us by a rival, 
erally acknowledged that Swift, having ' Addison's conversation,' says Pope, ' had 
observed that his election passed without 20 something in it more charming than I 
a contest, adds that if he had proposed have found in any other man. But this 
himself for king he would hardly have was only when familiar: before strangers, 
been refused. His zeal for his party did or perhaps a single stranger, he preserved 
not extingui'^h his kindness for the merit his dignity by a stiff silence.' This 
of his opponents ; when he was secretary 25 modesty was by no means inconsistent 
in Ireland, he refused to intermit his ac- with a very high opinion of his own 
quaintance with Swift. Of his habits or . merit. He demanded to be the first name 
external manners, nothing is so often in modern wit; and, with Steele to echo 
mentioned as that timorous or sullen him, used to depreciate Dryden, whom 
taciturnity, which his friends called 3° Pope and Congreve defended against 
modesty by too mild a name. Steele them. There is no reason to doubt that 
mentions with great tenderness ' that re- he suffered too much pain from the prev- 
markable bashfr.lness which is a cloak alence of Pope's poetical reputation; nor 
that hides and muffles merit ' ; and tells is it without strong reason suspected that 
us that his abilities were covered only 35 by some disingenuous ?cts he endeavored 
by modesty, which doubles the beauties to obstruct it ; Pope was not the only man 
which are seen, and gives credit and whom he insidiously injured, though the 
esteem to all that are concealed.' Ches- only man of whom he could be afraid, 
terfield affirms that ' Addison was the His own powers were such as might have 
most timorous and awkward man that he 4° satisfied him with conscious excellence, 
ever saw.' And Addison, speaking of his Of very extensive learning he has indeed 
own deficience in conversation used to say given no proofs. He seems to have had 
of himself that, with respect to intellec- small acquaintance with the sciences, and 
tual wealth,, ' he could draw bills for a to have read little except Latin and 
thousand pounds, though he had not a 45 French ; but of the Latin poets his Dia- 
guinea in his pocket.' That he wanted logues on Medals show that he had 
current coin for ready payment, and by perused the works with great diligence 
that want was often obstructed and dis- and skill. The abundance of his own 
tressed; that he was oppressed by an im- mind left him little need of adventitious 
proper and ungraceful timidity, every 5° sentiments ; his wit always could suggest 
testimony concurs to prove; but Chester- what the occasion demanded. He had 
field's representation is doubtless hyper- read with critical eyes the important 
bolical. That man canrjpt be supposed volume of human life, and knew the heart 
very unexpert in the arts of conversation of man, from the depths of stratagem to 
and practice of life who, without fortune 55 the surface of affectation. What he 
or alliance, by his usefulness and dex- knew he could easily communicate, 
terity became secretary of state, and who ' This,' says Steele. ' was particular in 



4i8 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



this writer — that when he had taken his and bashfulness for confidence. It is not 
resolution, or made his plan for what he unlikely that Addison was first seduced 
designed to write, he would walk about a to excess by the manumission which he 
room and dictate it into language with as obtained from the servile timidity of his 
much freedom and ease as any one could 5 sober hours. He that feels oppression 
write it down, and attend to the coher- from the presence of those to whom he 
ence and grammar of what he dictated.' knows himself superior will desire to set 

Pope, who can be less suspected of loose his powers of conversation; and 
favoring his memory, declares that he who that ever asked succors from Bac- 
wrote very fluently, but was slow and 10 chus was able to preserve himself from 
scrupulous in correcting; that many of being enslaved by his auxiliary? 
his Spectators were written very fast, and Among those friends it was that Ad- 

sent immediately to tl'e press; and that it dison displayed the elegance of his col- 
seemed to be for his advantage not to loquial accomplishments, which may 
have time for much revisal. ' He would 15 easily be supposed such as Pope repre- 
alter,' says Pope, ' anything to please his sents them. The remark of Mandeville, 
friends before publication, but would not who, when he had passed an evening in 
re-touch his pieces afterwards; and I be- his company, declared that he was a par- 
lieve not one word in Cato to which I son in a tye-wig, can detract little from 
made an objection was suffered to stand.' 20 his character; he was always reserved to 

The last line of Cato is Pope's, having strangers, and was not incited to uncom- 
been originally written — mon freedom by a character like that of 

Mandeville. 
And oh! 'twas this that ended Gate's life. From any minute knowledge of his 

2S familiar manners the intervention of sixty 

Pope might have made more objections years has now debarred us. Steele once 
to the six concluding lines. In the first promised Congreve and the public a 
couplet the words 'from hence' are im- complete description of his character; but 
proper; and the second line is taken from the promises of authors are like the vows 
Dryden's Virgil. Of the next couplet, 30 of lovers. Steele thought no more on 
the first verse, being included in the sec- his design, or thought on it with anxiety 
ond, is therefore useless; and in the third that at last disgusted him, and left his 
Discord is made to produce Strife. friend in the hands of Tickell. 

Of the course of Addison's familiar One slight lineament of his character 

day, before his marriage, Pope has given 35 Swift has preserved. It was his practice, 
a detail. He had in the house with him when he found any man invincibly wrong, 
Budgell, and perhaps Philips. His chief to flatter his opinions by acquiescence, 
companions were Steele, Budgell, Phil- and sink him yet deeper in absurdity, 
ips, Carey, Davenant, and Colonel Brett. This artifice of mischief was admired by 
With one or other of these he always 40 Stella ; and Swift seems to approve her 
breakfasted. He studied all morning; admiration. His works will supply some 
then dined at a tavern; and went after- information. It appears from his va- 
wards to Button's. rious pictures of the world, that, with 

Button had been a servant in the all his bashfulness, he had conversed with 
Countess of Warwick's family, who, un- 4S many distinct classes of men, had sur- 
der the patronage of Addison, kept a veyed their ways with very diligent ob- 
coffee-house on the south side of Rus- servation, and marked with great acute- 
sell Street, about two doors from Covent ness the effects of different modes of 
Garden. Here it was that the wits of life. He was a man in whose presence 
that time used to assemble. It is said 50 nothing reprehensible was out of danger ; 
when Addison had suffered any vexation quick in discerning whatever was wrong 
from the countess, he withdrew the com- or ridiculous, and not unwilling to expose 
pany from Button's house. From the it. ' There are,' says Steele, ' in his writ- 
coffee-house he went again to a tavern, ings many oblique strokes upon some of 
where he often sat late, and drank too 55 the wittiest men of the age.' His de- 
much wine. In the bottle discontent light was more to excite merriment than 
seeks for comfort, cowardice for courage, detestation; and he detects follies rathei 



LIFE OF ADDISON 4^9 

than crimes. If any judgment be made copies life with so much fidelity that he 
from his books of his moral character, can be hardly said to invent; yet his 
nothing will be found but purity and ex- exhibitions have an air so much origmal, 
cellence. Knowledge of mankind, in- that it is difficult to suppose them not 
deed, less extensive than that of Addison, 5 merely the product of imagination, 
will show that to write, and to live, are As a teacher of wisdom, he may be 

very different. Many who praise virtue, confidently followed. His religion has 
do no more than praise it. Yet it is rea- nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious : 
sonable to believe that Addison's profes- he appears neither weakly credulous nor 
sions and practice were at no great va- lo wantonly sceptical; his morality is 
riance, since amidst that storm of faction neither dangerously lax nor impracticably 
in which most of his life was passed, rigid. All the enchantment of fancy, 
though his station made him conspicu- and all the cogency of argument, are 
ous, and his activity made him formid- employed to recommend to the reader his 
able, the character given him by his 15 real interest, the care of pleasing* the 
friends was never contradicted by his author of his being. Truth is shown 
enemies. Of those with whom interest sometimes as the phantom of a vision ; 
or opinion united him he had not only sometimes appears half-veiled in an alle- 
the esteem, but the kindness; and of gory; sometimes attracts regard in the 
others whom the violence of opposition 20 robes of fancy ; and sometimes steps forth 
drove against him, though he might lose in the confidence of reason. She wears 
the love, he retained the reverence. a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing. 

It is justly observed by Tickell that he 
employed wit on the side of virtue and Mille habet ornatus, mille decenter habet. 
religion. He not only made the proper ^5 

use of wit himself, but taught it to His prose is the model of the middle 

others; and from his time it has been style; on grave subjects not formal, on 
generally subservient to the cause of rea- light occasions not groveling; pure with- 
son and of truth. He has dissipated the out scrupulosity, and exact without ap- 
prejudice that had long connected gaiety 30 parent elaboration ; always equable, and 
with vice, and easiness of manners with always easy, without glowing words or 
laxity of principles. He has restored pointed sentences. Addison never devi- 
virtue to its dignity, and taught innocence ates from his track to snatch a grace ; 
not to be ashamed. This is an elevation he seeks no ambitious ornaments, and 
of literary character * above all Greek, 35 tries no hazardous innovations. His 
above all Roman fame.' No greater fe*- page is always luminous, but never 
licity can genius attain than that of hav- blazes in unexpected splendor, 
ing purified intellectual pleasure, sep- It was apparently his principal en- 

arated mirth from ind cency, and wit deavor to avoid all harshness and severity 
from licentiousness ; of having taught a 40 of diction ; he is therefore sometimes 
succession of writers to bring elegance verbose in his transitions and connec- 
and gaiety to the aid of goodness; and, tions, and sometimes descends too much 
if I may use expressions yet more to the language of conversation ; yet if 
awful, of having ' turned many to right- his language had been less idiomatical 
eousness.' 45 it might have lost somewhat of its gen- 

* * * uine Anglicism. What he attempted, he 

As a describer of life and manners, performed; he is never feeble, and he did 
he must be allowed to stand perhaps the not wish to be energetic ; he is never 
first of the first rank. His humor, which, rapid, and he never stagnates. His sen- 
as Steele observes, is peculiar to him- 5° tences have neither studied amplitude nor 
self, is so happily diffused as to give the affected brevity; his periods, though not 
grace of novelty to domestic scenes and diligently rounded, are voluble and easy, 
daily occurrences. He never ' outsteps Whoever wishes to attain an English 
the modesty of nature,' nor raises mer- style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant 
riment or wonder by the violation of 55 but not ostentatious, must give his days 
truth. His figures never divert by dis- and nights to the volumes of Addison. 
tortion nor amaze by aggravation. He (1781) 



420 SAMUEL JOHNSON 



LETTERS impart it; till I am known, and do not 

want it. I hope it is no very cynical as- 
To the Right Honorable the Earl of perity not to confess obligations where no 

Chesterfield benefit has been received, or to be un- | 

February 7, 1755. 5 willing that the public should consider s 
My Lord: me as owing that to a patron, which 

I have lately been informed by the Providence has enabled me to do for 
proprietor of The World, that two papers, myself. 

in which my Dictionary is recommended Having carried on my work thus 5ar 

to the public, were written by your lord- 10 with so little obligation to any favorer of 
ship. To be so distinguished is an honor learning, I shall not be disappointed 
which, being very little accustomed to though I should conclude it, if less be 
favors from the great, I know not well possible, with less; for I have been long 
how to receive, or in what terms to ac- wakened from that dream of hope, in 
knowledge. i5 which I once boasted myself with so 

When, upon some slight encourage- much exultation, 
ment, I first visited your lordship, I was My Lord, 

overpowered, like the rest of mankind, Your Lordship's most humble, 

by the enchantment of your address; and Most obedient servant, 

I could not forbear to wish that I might 20 Sam. Johnson. 

boast myself ' Le vainqueur dn vainqueur 

de la tcrre ' [conqueror of the conqueror Mr. James Macpherson : 
of the earth] ; that I might obtain that I received your foolish and impudent 

regard for which I saw the world con- letter. Any violence offered me I shall 
tending ; but I found my attendance so ^5 do my best to repel ; and what I cannot 
little encouraged, that neither pride nor do for myself the law shall do for me. 
modesty would suffer me to continue it. I hope I shall never be deterred from 
When I had once addressed your lordship detecting what I think a cheat, by the 
in public, I had exhausted all the art menaces of a ruffian, 
of pleasing which a retired and un- 30 What would you have me retract? I 
courtly scholar can possess. I had done thought your book an imposture; I think 
all that I could; and no man is well it an imposture still. For this opinion 
pleased to have his all neglected, be it I have given my reasons to the public, 
ever so little. which I here dare you to refute. Your 

Seven years, my lord, have now passed, ^5 rage I defy. Your abilities, since your 
since I waited in your outward rooms, Homer, are not so formidable; and what I 
or was repulsed from your door; during hear of your morals, inclines me to pay re- 
which time I have been pushing on my gard not to what you shall say, but to 
work through difficulties, of which it is what you shall prove. You may print 
useless to complain, and have brought it 40 this if you will. 

at last to the verge of publication, with- Sam. Johnson. 

out one act of assistance, one word of (i775) 

encouragement, or one smile of favor. 

Such treatment I did not expect, for I To the Reverend Dr. Taylor, Ashbourne, 
never had a patron before. 4S Derbyshire 

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last Dear Sir: 
acquainted with Love, and found him a What can be the reason that I hear 

native of the rocks. nothing from you ? I hope nothing dis- 

Is not a patron, my lord, one who ables you from writing. What I have 
looks with unconcern on a man strug- 50 seen, and what I have felt, gives me rea- 
gling for life in the water, and, when son to fear everything. Do not omit 
he has reached ground, encumbers him giving me the comfort of knowing, that 
with help? The notice which you have after all my losses I have yet a friend 
been pleased to take of my labors, had it left. 

been early, had been kind; but it has been S5 I want every comfort. My life is very 
delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot solitary and very cheerless. Though it 
enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot has pleased God wonderfully to deliver 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES 



421 



me from the dropsy, 1 am yet very weak, 
and have not passed the door since the 
13th of December. I hope for some help 
from warm weather, which will surely 
come in time. 

I could not have the consent of 
physicians to go to church yesterday ; I 
therefore received the holy sacrament 
at home, in the room where I communi- 
cated with dear Mrs. Williams, a little 
before her death. O ! my friend, the ap- 
proach of death is very dreadful. I am 
afraid to think on that which I know I 
cannot avoid. It is vain to look round 
and round for that help which cannot be 
had. Yet we hope and hope, and fancy 
that he who has lived to-day may live 
to-morrow. But let us learn to derive 
our hope only from God. 

In the meantime let us be kind to one 

another. I have no friend now living but. 

you and Mr. Hector, that was the friend 

of my youth. Do not neglect, dear Sir, 

Yours affectionately, 

Sam. Johnson. 

London, Easter Monday, 
April 12, 1784. 



From THE VANITY OF HUMAN 
WISHES 

Let observation, with extensive view, 

Survey mankind, from China to Peru ; 

Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife. 

And watch the busy scenes of crowded life ; 

Then say how hope and fcfer, desire and 
hate, s 

O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of 
fate, 

Where wavering man, betrayed by venturous 
pride, 

To tread the dreary paths without a guide ; 

As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, 

Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good. 10 

How rarely reason guides the stubborn 
choice. 

Rules the bold hand, or prompts the sup- 
pliant voice. 

How nations sink, by darling schemes op- 
pressed, 

When vengeance listens to the fool's re- 
quest. 

Fate wings with every wish the afflictive 
dart, IS 

Each gift of nature, and each grace of art. 

With fatal heat impetuous courage glows. 



With fatal sweetness elocution flows, 

Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful 
breath, 

And restless fire precipitates on death. 20 
But scarce observed, the knowing and the 
bold. 

Fall in the general massacre of gold; 

Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined, 

And crowds with crimes the records of man- 
kind ; 

For gold his sword the hireling ruffian 
draws, 25 

For gold the hireling judge distorts the 
laws ; 

Wealth heaped on wealth, nor truth nor 
safety buys. 

The dangers gather as the treasures rise. 
Let history tell where rival kings com- 
mand, 

And dubious title shakes the maddened 
land ; 30 

When statutes glean the refuse of the 
sword, 

How much more safe the vassal than the 
lord; 

Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of 
power, 

And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, 

Untouched his cottage, and his slumbers 
sound, 35 

Though confiscation's vultures hover round. 
* * * 

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand. 
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand : 
To him the church, the realm, their powers 

consign ; 
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine; 
Turned by his nod the stream of honor 

flows, 41 

His smile alone security bestows : • 

Still to new heights his restless wishes 

tower; 
Claim leads to claim, and power advances 

power ; 
Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, 45 
And rights submitted, left him none to 

seize. 
At length his sovereign frowns — the train 

of state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign 

to hate ; 
Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye. 
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers 

fly; so 

Now drops at once the pride of awful state, 
The golden canopy, the glittering plate. 
The regal palace, the luxurious board. 
The liveried army, and the menial lord. 



422 



SAMUEL JOHNSON 



With age, with cares, with ■ maladies op- 
pressed, 55 

He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. 

Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings, 

And his last sighs reproach the faith of 
kings. 
Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble 
peace repine, 

Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end 
be thine? 60 

Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride con- 
* tent, 

The wisest Justice on the banks of Trent? 

For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of 
fate, 

On weak foundations raise the enormous 
weight? 64 

Why, but to sink beneath misfortune's blow. 

With louder ruin to the gulfs below. 
* * * 

On what foundations stands the warrior's 
pride. 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles de- 
cide; 
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
No dangers fright him, and no labors tire; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide do- 
main, 71 
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain. 
No joys to him pacific scepters yield. 
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the 

field; 
Behold surrounding kings their power com- 
bine, 75 
And one capitulate, and one resign; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her 

charms in vain ; 
* Think nothing gained,' he cries, ' till nought 

remain, 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards Hy, 
And all be mine beneath the polar sky.' 80 
The march begins in military state, 
And" nations on his eye suspended wait ; 
Stern famine guards the solitary coast, 
And winter barricades the realms of frost: 
He comes, nor want, nor cold, his course 
delay; 85 

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day: 
The vanquished hero leaves his broken 
bands, 



And shews his miseries in distant lands; 
Condemned a needy supplicant to wait. 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 90 
But did not Chance at length the error 

mend? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 96 
He left the name at which the world grew 

pale. 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 



Where then shall Hope and Fear their 
objects find? 
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant 
mind? 100 

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate. 
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise. 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? 
Enquirer, cease ; petitions yet remain 105 
Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion 

vain. 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice. 
But leave to Heaven the measure and the 

choice. 
Safe in his power whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer; 
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest, m 
Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind. 
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; u^ 
For love, which scarce collective man can 

fill; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
Counts death kind Nature's signal of re- 
treat. 120 
These goods for man the laws of Heav'n or- 
dain, 
These goods he grants, who grants the 

power to gain ; 
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 
And makes the happiness she does not find. 

(1749) 



JAMES BOSWELL (1740-1795) 



James Boswell was the son of a Scotch laird at Auchinleck, in Ayrshire, and was pre- 
pared for the bar at Edinburgh and Glasgow. He also studied at Utrecht, later, entered 
the Middle Temple in London, and, in 1786, was admitted to the English bar. He traveled 
widely, cultivated assiduously the society of famous men, and made literary stock of their 
conversation and correspondence. During one of his toui's he ' gratified his curiosity much 
in dining with Jean Jacques Rousseau,' then an exile ' in the wilds of Neufchatel.' At 
another time, he got as far as Corsica, published an Account on his return, and, when Paoli, 
the Corsican patriot, took refuge in London in 1776, became his constant guest. But the 
acquaintance which was particularly fruitful for English literatui'e was that with Dr. Samuel 
Johnson, begun in 1763 and lasting until Johnson's death. Boswell was gifted with a 
high degree of curiosity, acute perception and a retentive memory, and he early formed the 
habit of keeping an exact journal. It is reported of him that he would ' lay down his 
knife and fork, and take out his tablets to record a good anecdote.' In spite of toadyism 
and vanity and his habit of taking notes, he had the faculty of making himself agreeable 
as a companion and, in 1773, Johnson got him elected to the Literary Club, thus vastly 
extending his opportunities for observation. The same year, the two toured the Hebrides 
together. During this journey Boswell allowed Johnson to read portions of his journal, and 
the great man acknowledged that it was 'a very exact picture of a portion of his life.' The 
year after Johnson's death Boswell published hi s Journal of a Tour to the He brides ivith 
Dr. Jjohmori, and during the next few years, he~51'ought to completion the Li(e^qf"Faniuel 
Johnson,^ LliD. (1791). T'his remarkable book is as vital and intimate as a masterpiece 
olTfiction and has the additional interest that it is an authentic transcript from the life of 
a great and influential man of peculiar social qualities, ' the whole exhibiting,' as the title 
page has it, ' a view of literature and literary men in Great Britain for near half a cen- 
tury, during which he flourished.' 



From THE LIFE OF JOHNSON avowed principles, and become the tool 

of a government which he held to be 
The accession of George the Third to founded in usurpation. I have taken 
the throne of these kingdoms, opened care to have it in my power to refute 
a new and brighter prospect to men of 5 them from the most authentic informa- 
literary merit, who had been honored tion. Lord Bute told me that Mr. Wed- 
with no mark of royal favor in the pre- derburne, now Lord Loughborough, was 
ceding reign. His present Majesty's ed- the person who first mentioned this sub- 
ucation in this country, as well as his ject to him. Lord Loughborough told me 
taste and beneficence, prompted him to lo that the pension was granted to Johnson 
be the patron of science and the arts; solely as the reward of his literary merit, 
and early this year, Johnson having been without any stipulation whatever, or 
represented to him as a very learned and even tacit understanding that he should 
good man, without any certain provision, write for the administration. His lord- 
his Majesty was pleased to grant him a i5 ship added, that he was confident the 
pension of three hundred pounds a year, political tracts which Johnson afterwards 
The Earl of Bute, who was then prime did write, as they were entirely con- 
minister, had the honor to announce this sonant with his own opinions, would 
instance of his sovereign's bounty, con- have been written by him though no pen- 
cerning which, many and various stories, 20 sion had been granted to him. 
all equally erroneous, have been propa- Mr. Thomas Sheridan and Mr. 

gated; maliciously representing it as a Murphy, who then lived a good deal both 
political bribe to Johnson, to desert his with him and Mr, Wedderburne, told me 

423 



424 * JAMES BOSWELL 



that they previously talked with John- enforce obligation. You have conferred 
son upon this matter, and that it was favors on a man who has neither alliance 
perfectly understood by all parties that nor interest, who has not merited them by 
the pension was merely honorary. Sir services, nor courted them by officiousness; 
Joshua Reynolds told me, that Johnson 5 you have spared him the shame of solicita- 
called on him after his Majesty's inten- tion, and the anxiety of suspense, 
tion had been notified to him, and said he ' What has been thus elegantly given, will, 

wished to consult his friends as to the I hope, be not reproachfully enjoyed; I shall 
propriety of his accepting this mark of endeavor to give your Lordship the only rec- 
the royal favor, after the definitions loompense which generosity desires,— the 
which he had given in his Dictionary of gratification of finding that your benefits are 
'pension' and 'pensioners.' He said "ot improperly bestowed. I am, my Lord, 
he should not have Sir Joshua's answer 'Your Lordship's most obliged, 

till next day, when he would call again, ' Most obedient, and most humble servant, 
and desired he might think of it. Sir 15 ' Sam Johnson.' 

Joshua answered that he was clear to 

give his opinion then, that there could This year his friend, Sir Joshua Rey- 

be no objection to his receiving from nolds, paid a visit of some weeks to his 
the king a reward for literary merit; native county, Devonshire, in which he 
and that certainly the definitions in his 20 was accompanied by Johnson, who was 
Dictionary were not applicable to him. much pleased with this jaunt, and declared 
Johnson, it should seem, was satisfied, for he had derived from it a great accession 
he did not call again till he had accepted of new ideas. He was entertained at the 
the pension, and had waited on Lord seats of several noblemen and gentle- 
Bute to thank him. He then told Sir ^5 men in the west of England,^ but the 
Joshua that Lord Bute said to him ex- greatest part of this time was passed at 
pressly, ' It is not given you for any- Plymouth, where the magnificence of the 
thing you are to do, but what you have navy, the ship-building and all its cir- 
done.' His lordship, he said, behaved in cumstances, afforded him a grand 
the handsomest manner. He repeated the 30 subject for contemplation. The commis- 
words twice, that he might be sure John- sioner of the dockyard paid him the com- 
son heard them, and thus set his mind phment of ordering the yacht to convey 
perfectly at ease. * * * him and his friend to the Eddystone, to 

But I shall not detain my readers which they accordingly sailed. But the 
longer by any words of my own, on a 35 weather was so tempestuous that they 
subject on which I am happily enabled, could not land. * * * 
by the favor of the Earl of Bute, to Sir Joshua Reynolds, to whom I was 

present them with what Johnson himself obliged for my information concerning 
wrote; his lordship having been pleased this excursion, mentions a very char- 
to communicate to me a copy of the fol- ^o actenstical anecdote of Johnson while at 
lowing letter to his father, which does Plymouth. Having observed that, in 
great honor both to the writer and to the consequence of the dock-yard, a new 
noble person to whom it is addressed: town had arisen about two miles off as 

a rival to the old; and knowing, from his 
' To the Right Honorable the Earl of 45 sagacity and just observation of human 
) Bute nature, that it is certain, if a man hates 

'July 20 1762. ' at all, he will hate his next neighbor, 

, ,4- T iiri, a u-11 ^ ,,^c he concluded that this iiew and rising 

My Lorb — When the bills were yes- ° 

terday delivered to me by Mr. Wedderburne, ..^ ,,, *t-,a ^i,-- 

•' . , , , . -^ J. , J. J. rn At one of these seats Dr. Amyat, physician in 

I was informed by him of the future favors ^ London, told me he happened to meet him. In or- 
which his Majesty has, by your Lordship's der to amuse him till dinner should be ready, he was 

recommendation, been induced to intend for tfken out to walk in the garden. _ The master of 

the house, thinking it proper to introduce some- 
one. ^ ^ thing scientific into the conversation, addressed hini 
'Bounty always receives part of its value thus: 'Are you a botanist. Dr. Johnson?' 'No, 
from the manner in which it is bestowed; 55 sir,' answered Johnson, 'I am not a botanist; 

your Lordship's kindness includes every cir- ^f li^'^'^'^l ?° /^°"''* ^° ^^^ near-sightedness) 
•' ,^ . I. , ,. "^ should I wish to become a botanist, I must first 

cumstance that can gratify delicacy, or ^^^.^ myself into a reptile.' 



LtFE OF JOHNSON 425 



town could not but excite the envy and him to Hve in the immense metropolis of 
jealousy of the old, in which conjecture London. Mr. Gentleman, a native of 
he was very soon confirmed ; he, there- Ireland, who passed some years in Scot- 
fore, set himself resolutely on the side of land as a player, and as an instructor 
the old town, the established town, in 5 in the English language, a man whose 
which his lot was cast, considering it talents and worth were depressed by 
as a kind of duty to stand by it. He ac- misfortunes, had given me a representa- 
cordingly entered warmly into its in- tion of the figure and manner of Dic- 
terests, and upon every occasion talked tionary Johnson ! as he was then gen- 
of the dockers, as the inhabitants of the 10 erally called ; and during my first visit 
new town were called, as upstarts and to London, which was for three months 
aliens. Plymouth is very plentifully in 1760, Mr. Derrick, the poet, who was 
supplied with water by a river brought Gentleman's friend and countryman, flat- 
into it from a great distance, which is tered me with hopes that he would in- 
so abundant that it runs to waste in the 15 troduce me to Jol:\,nson, an honor of which 
town. The Dock, or New-town, being I was very ambitious. But he never 
totally destitute of water, petitioned found an opportunity, which made me 
Plymouth that a small portion of the doubt that he had promised to do what 
conduit might be permitted to go to them, was not in his power; till Johnson, some 
and this was now under consideration. 20 years afterwards, told me, ' Derrick, sir, 
Johnson, affecting to entertain the pas- might very well have introduced you. 
sions of the place, was violent in oppo- I had a kindness for Derrick, and am 
sition; and half-laughing at himself for sorry he is dead.' 

his pretended zeal, where he had no con- In the summer of 1761 Mr. Thomas 

cern, exclaimed, * No, no ; I am against ^5 Sheridan was at Edinburgh, and delivered 
the dockers; I am a Plymouth man. lectures upon the English language and 
Rogues ! let them die of thirst. They public speaking to large and respectable 
shall not have a drop ! ' audiences. I was often in his company, 

* * * and heard him frequently expatiate upon 

1763 : Aetat. 54. In 1763, he furnished 30 Johnson's extraordinary knowledge, tal- 
to The Poetical Calendar, published by ents, and virtues, repeat his pointed say- 
Fawkes and Woty, a character of Collins, ings, describe his particularities, and 
which he afterwards ingrafted into his en- boast of his being his guest sometimes 
tire Hfe of that admirable poet, in the till two or three in the morning. At his 
collection of lives which he wrote for 35 house I hoped to have many opportunities 
the body of English poetry, formed and of seeing the sage, as Mr. Sheridan 
published by the booksellers of London, obligingly assured me I should not be 
His account of the melancholy depression disappointed. 

with which Collins was severely afflicted, When I returned to London in the end 
and which brought him to his grave, is, 40 of 1762, to my surprise and regret I 
I think, one of the most tender and in- found an irreconcilable difference had 
teresting passages in the whole series of taken place between Johnson and Sheri- 
his writings. * * * dan. A pension of two hundred pounds 

This is to me a memorable year; for a year had been given to Sheridan. 
in it I had the happiness to obtain the 45 Johnson, who thought slightingly of 
acquaintance of that extraordinary man Sheridan's art, upon hearing that he was 
whose memoirs I am now writing: an also pensioned, exclaimed, 'What! have 
acquaintance which I shall ever esteem they given him z pension? Then it is 
as one of the most fortunate circum- time for me to give up mine.' Whether 
stances in my life. Though then but two- 50 this proceeded from a momentary indig- 
and-twenty, I had for several years read nation, as if it were an affront to his 
his works with delight and instruction, exalted merit that a player should be re- 
and had the highest reverence for their warded in the same manner with him, or 
author, which had grown up in my fancy was the sudden effect of a fit of peevish- 
into a kind of mysterious veneration, bySSness, it was unluckily said, and indeed 
figuring to myself a state of solemn, ele- cannot be justified. Mr. Sheridan's pen- 
vated abstraction in which I supposed sion was granted to him not as a player, 



426 JAMES BOSWELL 



but as a sufferer in the cause of govern- Her novel, entitled Memoirs of Miss 
ment, when he was manager of the Sydney Biddtdph, contains an excellent 
Theater Royal in Ireland, when parties moral while it inculcates a future state 
ran high in 1753. And it must also be of retribution; and what it teaches is 
allowed that he was a man of literature, 5 impressed upon the mind by a series of as 
and had considerably improved the arts deep distress as can affect humanity, in 
of reading and speaking with distinctness the amiable and pious heroine who goes 
and propriety. * * * to her grave unrelieved, but resigned, and 

Johnson complained that a man who full of hope of ' heaven's mercy.' John- 
disliked him repeated his sarcasm to Mr. 10 son paid her this high compliment upon 
Sheridan, without telling him what fol- it : 'I know not, Madam, that you have 
lowed, which was, that after a pause he a right, upon moral principles, to make 
added, ' However, I am glad that Mr. your readers suffer so much.' 
Sheridan has a pension, for he is a very Mr. Thomas Davies, the actor, who then 

good man.' Sheridan .could never for- 15 kept a bookseller's shop in Russell Street, 
give this hasty contemptuous expression. Covent Garden, told me that Johnson was 
It rankled in his mind; and though I in- very much his friend, and came fre- 
formed him of all that Johnson said, and quently to his house, where he more than 
that he would be very glad to meet him once invited me to meet him; but by 
amicably, he positively declined repeated 20 some unlucky accident or other he was 
offers which I made, and once went off prevented from coming to us. Mr, 
abruptly from a house where he and I Thomas Davies was a man of good un- 
were engaged to dine, because he was derstanding and talents, with the advan- 
told that Dr. Johnson was to be there. tage of a liberal education. Though 

I have no sympathetic feeling with ^5 somewhat pompous, he was an entertain- 
such persevering resentment. It is pain- ing companion; and his literary perform- 
ful when there is a breach between those ances have no inconsiderable share of 
who have lived together socially and cor- merit. He was a friendly and very hos- 
dially; and I wonder that there is not, pitable man. Both he and his wife, (who 
in all such cases, a mutual wish that it 30 has been celebrated for her beauty), 
should be healed. I could perceive that though upon the stage for many years, 
Mr. Sheridan was by no means satisfied maintained an uniform decency of char- 
with Johnson's acknowledging him to be act^r; and Johnson esteemed them, and 
a good man. That could not soothe his lived in as easy an intimacy with them, 
injured vanity. I could not but smile, at 35 as with any family which he used to 
the same time that I was offended, to visit. Mr. Davies recollected several of 
observe Sheridan in The Life of Swift, Johnson's remarkable sayings, and was 
which he afterwards published, attempt- one of the best of the many imitators of 
ing, in the writhings of his resentment, his voice and manner, while relating 
to depreciate Johnson, by characterizing 40 them. He increased my impatience more 
him as * A writer of gigantic fame in and more to see the extraordinary man 
these days of little men ' ; that very whose works I highly valued, and whose 
Johnson whom he once so highly ad- conversation was reported to be so pecul- 
mired and venerated. This rupture with iarly excellent. 

Sheridan deprived Johnson of one of 45 At last, on Monday, the i6th of May, 
his most agreeable resources for amuse- when I was sitting in Mr. Davies's back- 
ment in his lonely evenings; for Sheri- parlor, after having drunk tea with hirn 
dan's well-informed, animated, and and Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly 
bustling mind never suffered conversation came into the shop ; and Mr. Davies hav- 
to stagnate ; and Mrs. Sheridan was a 5o ing perceived him, through the glass- 
most agreeable companion to an Intel- door in the room in which we were sitting, 
lectual man. She was sensible, ingen- advancing towards us, — he announced 
ious, unassuming, yet communicative. his awful approach to me, some- 
I recollect, with satisfaction, many what in the manner of an actor in the 
pleasing hours which I passed with her 55 part of Horatio, when he addresses 
under the hospitable roof of her hus- Hamlet on the appearance of his father's 
band, who was to me a very kind friend, ghost, ' Look, my lord, it comes ! ' I 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 427 



found that I had a very perfect idea of myself much mortified, and began to 
Johnson's figure, from the portrait of think that the hope which I had long 
him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon indulged of obtaining his acquaintance 
after he had published his Dictionary, in was blasted. And, in truth, had not my 
the attitude of sitting in his easy chair 5 ardor been uncommonly strong, and my 
in deep meditation. Mr. Davies men- resolution uncommonly persevering, so. 
tioned my name, and respectfully intro- rough a reception might have deterred 
duced me to him. I was much agitated ; me from ever making any further at- 
and recollecting his prejudice against the tempts. Fortunately, however, I re- 
Scotch, of which I had heard much, 1 10 mained upon the field not wholly 
said to Davies, ' Don't tell where I come discomfited ; and was soon rewarded by 
from.' — ' From Scotland,' cried Davies, hearing some of his conversation, of 
roguishly. . ' Mr. Johnson,' said I, 'I do which I preserved the following short 
indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot minute, without remarking the questions 
help it.' I am willing to flatter myself 15 and observations by which it was pro- 
that I meant this as light pleasantry to duced. 

soothe and conciliate him, and not as ' People,' he remarked, ' may be taken 

an humiliating abasement at the expense in once, who imagine that an author is 
of my country. But however that might greater in private life than other men. 
be, this speech was somewhat unlucky ; 20 Uncommon parts require uncommon op- 
for with that quickness of wit for which portunities, for their exertion, 
he was so remarkable, he seized the ex- ' In barbarous society, superiority of 

pression, ' come from Scotland,' which I parts is of real consequence. Great 
used in the sense of being of that coun- strength or great wisdom is of much 
try; and, as if I had said that I had corneas value to an individual. But in more 
away from it, or left it, retorted, ' That, polished times there are people to do 
sir, I find, is what a very great many of everything for money ; and then there 
your countrymen cannot help.' This are a number of other superiorities, such 
stroke stunned me a good deal ; and when as those of birth, and fortune, and rank, 
we had sat down, I felt myself not a little 3° that dissipate men's attention, and leave 
embarrassed, and apprehensive of what no extraordinary share of respect for 
might come next. He then addressed personal and intellectual superiority, 
himself to Davies : ' What do you think This is wisely ordered by Providence, to 
of Garrick? He has refused me an or- preserve some equality among mankind.' 
der for the play for Miss Williams, be- 35 * * * 

cause he knows the house will be full, I was highly pleased with the ex- 

and that an order would be worth three traordinary vigor of his conversation, 
shillings,' Eager to take any opening to and regretted that I was drawn away 
get into conversation with him, I ven- from it by an engagement at another 
tured to say, ' O sir, I cannot think Mr. 40 place. I had, for a part of the evening, 
Garrick would grudge such a trifle to been left alone with him, and had ven- 
you.' ' Sir,' said he, with a stern look, tured to make an observation now and 
' I have known David Garrick longer than then, which he received very civilly; so 
you have done ; and I know no right you that I was satisfied that, though there 
have to talk to me on the subject.' Per- 45 was a roughness in his manner, there 
haps I deserved this check; for it was was no ill-nature in his disposition, 
rather presumptuous in me, an entire Davies followed me to the door, and when 
stranger, to express any doubt of the I complained to him a little of the hard 
justice of his animadversion upon his old blows which the great man. had given 
acquaintance and pupil. ^ I now felt 5o me, he kindly took upon him to console 

me by saying, ' Don't be uneasy. I can 

''■ That this was a momentary sally against Gar- g^g Jjg likeS VOU verv Well ' 

rick there can be no doubt; for at Johnson's \ f a ft- ^*T ^] A 

desire he had, some years before, given a benefit- '^. I^W OayS aiterwai-OS 1 CalleO On 

night at his theater to this very person, by which DavicS, and asked him if he thought I 
she had got two hundred pounds. Johnson, in- 55 

deed, upon all other occasions, when I was in his . Sir, that you attack Garrick yourself, but will suf- 

company, praised the very liberal charity of Gar- fer nobody else to do it.' Johnson (smiling). 

rick. I once mentioned to him, ' It is observed, 'Why, Sir, that is true.' 



428 JAMES BOSWELL 



might take the liberty of waiting on Mr. drawn up; and he had a pair of un- 
Johnson at his chambers in the Temple, buckled shoes by way of slippers. But 
He said I certainly might, and that Mr. all these slovenly particularities were for- 
Johnson would take it as a compliment, gotten the moment that he began to talk. 
So, on Tuesday, the 24th day of May, 5 Some gentlemen, whom I do not recollect, 
after having been enlivened by the witty were sitting with him; and when they 
sallies of Messieurs Thornton, Wilkes, went away, I also rose ; but he said to me, 
Churchill, and Lloyd, with whom I had ' Nay, don't go.' ' Sir,' said I, ' I am 
passed the morning, I boldly repaired to afraid that I intrude upon you. It is be- 
Johnson. His chambers were on the first ^° nevolent to allow me to sit and hear you.' 
floor of No. I, Inner Temple-lane, and I He seemed pleased with this compliment, 
entered them with an impression given which I sincerely paid him, and answered, 
me by the Reverend Dr. Blair, of Edin- ' Sir, I am obliged to any man who visits 
burgh, who had been introduced to him me.' I have preserved the following 
not long before, and described his having iS short minute of what passed this day: — 
' found the Giant in his den ' ; an expres- ' Madness frequently discovers itself 
sion which, when I came to be pretty merely by unnecessary deviation from the 
well acquainted with Johnson, I repeated usual modes of the world. My poor 
to him, and he was diverted at this pic- friend Smart showed the disturbance of 
turesqu'e account of himself. Dr. Blair 20 his mind, by falling upon his knees, and 
had been presented to him by Dr. James saying his prayers in the street, or in any 
Fordyce. At this time the controversy other unusual place. Now although, ra- 
concerning the pieces published by Mr. tionally speaking, it is greater madness 
James Macpherson, as translations of not to pray at all, than to pray as Smart 
Ossian, was at its height. Johnson had ^5 did, I am afraid there are so many who 
all along denied their authenticity ; and, do not pray, that their understanding is 
what was still more provoking to their not called in question.' 
admirers, maintained that they had no Concerning this unfortunate poet, 
merit. The subject having been intro- Christopher Smart, who was confined in 
duced by Dr. Fordyce, Dr. Blair, relying 30 a madhouse, he had, at another time, the 
on the internal evidence of their antiq- following conversation with Dr. Burney. 
uity, asked Dr. Johnson whether he Burney: ' How does poor Smart do, sir ; 
thought any man of a modern age could is he likely to recover?' — Johnson: 'It 
have written such poems? Johnson re- seems as if his mind had ceased to strug- 
plied, ' Yes, sir, many men, many women, 35 gle with the disease : for he grows fat 
and many children.' Johnson, at this upon it' — Burney: 'Perhaps, sir, that 
time, did not know that Dr. Blair had may be from want of exercise.' — John- 
just published a Dissertation, not only son: 'No, sir; he has partly as much 
defending their authenticity, but seriously exercise as he used to have, for he digs 
ranking them with the poems of Homer 40 in the garden. Indeed, before his con- 
and Virgil; and when he was afterwards finement, he used for exercise to walk to 
informed of this circumstance, he ex- the ale-house; but he was carried back 
^pressed some displeasure at Dr. Fordyce's again. I did not think he ought to be 
having suggested the topic, and said, ' I shut up. His infirmities were not nox- 
am not sorry that they got thus much for 45 ious to society. He insisted on people 
their pains. Sir, it was like leading one praying with him, and I 'd as lief pray 
to talk of a book, when the author is con- with Kit Smart as any one else. An- 
cealed behind the door.' other charge was, that he did not love 

He received me very courteously; but clean linen; and I have no passion for 
it must be confessed that his apartment, 5o it.' Johnson continued : ' Mankind have 
and furniture, and morning dress, were a great aversion to intellectual labor; 
sufficiently uncouth. His brown suit of but even supposing knowledge to be 
clothes looked very rusty; he had on a easily attainable, more people would be 
little old shriveled unpowdered wig, content to be ignorant than would take 
which was too small for his head, his 55 even a little trouble to acquire it' 
shirt-neck and knees of his breeches were' ' The morality of an action depends on 
loose; his black worsted stockings ill the motive from which we act If I fling 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 429 



half-a-crown to a beggar, with intention when I told him I had been to see John- 
to break his head, and he picks it up and son ride upon three horses, he said, 
buys victuals with it, the physical effect. * Such a man, sir, should be encouraged ; 
is good; but, with respect to me, the ac- for his performances show the extent of 
tion is very wrong. So religious exer- 5 the human powers in one instance, and 
cises, if not performed with an intention thus tend to raise our opinion of the 
to please God, avail us nothing. As our faculties of man. He shows what may 
Saviour says of those who perform them be attained by persevering application ; so 
from other motives, " Verily they have that every man may hope, that by giving 
their reward." 10 as much application, although, perhaps, 

' The Christian religion has very strong he may never ride three horses at a time, 
evidences. It, indeed, appears in some or dance upon a wire, yet he may be 
degree strange to reason; but in History equally expert in whatever profession he 
we have undoubted facts, against which, has chosen to pursue.' 
reasoning a priori, we have more argu- 15 He again shook me by the hand at 
ments than we have for them; but then, parting, and asked me why I did not 
testimony has great weight, and casts the come oftener to him. Trusting that I 
balance. I would recommend to every was now in his good graces, I answered, 
man whose faith is yet unsettled, Grotius, that he had not given me much encour- 
— Dr. Pearson, — and Dr. Clarke.' 20 agement, and reminded him of the check 

Talking of Garrick, he said, ' He is the I had received from him at our first in- 
first man in the world for sprightly con- terview. ' Poh, poh ! ' said he, with a 
versation.' ^ complacent smile, ' never mind these 

When I rose a second time, he again things. Come to me as often as you 
pressed me to stay, which I did. 25 can. I shall be glad to see you.' 

He told me, that he generally went I had learnt that his place of frequent 
abroad at four in the afternoon, and sel- resort was the Mitre tavern in Fleet- 
dom came home till two in the morning, street, where he loved to sit up late, and 
I took the liberty to ask if he did not I begged I might be allowed to pass an 
think it wrong to live thus, and not make 30 evening with him there soon, which he 
more use of his great talents. He owned promised I should. A few days after- 
it was a bad habit. On reviewing, at wards, I met him near Temple-bar about 
the distance of many years, my journal one o'clock in the morning, and asked 
of this period, I wonder how, at my first if he would then go to the Mitre. ' Sir,' 
visit, I ventured to talk to him so freely, 35 said he, 'it is too late, they won't let 
and that he bore it with so much in- us in. But I '11 go with you another 
dulgence. night, with all my heart.' 

Before we parted, he was so good as A revolution of some importance in 
to promise to favor me with his company my plan of life had just taken place: for 
one evening at my lodgings ; and, as 1 40 instead of procuring a commission in the 
took my leave, shook me cordially by the foot guards, which was my own inclina- 
hand. It is almost needless to add, that tion, I had, in compliance with my 
I felt no little elation at having now so father's wishes, agreed to study the law, 
happily established an acquaintance of and was soon to set out for Utrecht, to 
which I had been so long ambitious. 45 hear the lectures of an excellent civilian 

My readers will, I trust, excuse me for in that University, and then to proceed on 
being thus minutely circumstantial, when my travels. Though very desirous of ob- 
it is considered that the acquaintance of taining Dr. Johnson's advice and instruc- 
Dr. Johnson was to me a most valuable tions on the mode of pursuing my studies, 
acquisition, and laid the foundation of 50 I was at this time so occupied, shall I 
whatever instruction and entertainment call it? or so dissipated by the amuse- 
they may receive from my collections con- ments of London, that our next meeting 
cerning the great subject of the work was not till Saturday, June 25, when, 
which they are now perusing. happening to dine at Clifton's eating- 

I did not visit him again till Monday, 55 house, in Butcher-row, I was surprised 
June 13, at which time I recollect no to perceive Johnson come in and take his 
part of his conversation, except, that seat at another table. The mode of 



430 JAMES BOSWELL 



dining, or rather being fed, at such too much, he was in danger of losing that 
houses in London, is well known to many degree of estimation to which he was en- 
to be particularly unsocial, as there is . titled. His friends gave out that he in- 
no ordinary, or united company, but each tended his Birthday Odes should be 
person has his own mess, and is under 5 bad ; but that was not the case, sir ; for 
no obligation to hold any intercourse ■ he kept them many months by him, and a 
with any one. A liberal and full-minded few years before he died he showed me 
man, however, who loves to talk, will one of them, with great solicitude to 
break through this churlish and unsocial render it as perfect as might be, and I 
restraint. Johnson and an Irish gentle- ^° made some corrections, to which he was 
man got into a dispute concerning the not very willing to submit. I remember 
cause of some part of mankind being the following couplet in allusion to the 
black. 'Why, sir,' said Johnson, 'it has King and himself: — 
been accounted for in three ways: either 

by supposing that they are the posterity ^5 Perched on the eagle's soaring wing, 

of Ham, who was cursed, or that God The lowly linnet loves to sing, 

at first created two kinds of men, one 

black, and another white, or that, by the Sir, he had heard something of the fab- 
heat of the sun, the skin is scorched, and ulous tale of the wren sitting upon the 
so acquires a sooty hue. This matter has ^° eagle's wing, and he had applied it to a 
been much canvassed among naturalists, linnet. Gibber's familiar style, however, 
but has never been brought to any cer- was better than that which Whitehead 
tain issue.' What the Irishman said is has assumed. Grand nonsense is insup- 
totally obliterated from my mind; but portable. Whitehead is but a little man 
I remember that he became very warm 25 to inscribe verses to players.' 
and intemperate in his expressions ; upon I did not presume to controvert this 

which Johnson rose, and quietly walked censure, which was tinctured with his 
away. When he had retired, his antago- prejudice against players ; but I could 
nist took his revenge, as he thought by not help thinking that a dramatic poet 
saying, ' He has a most tmgainly figure, 30 might with propriety pay a compliment 
and an affectation of pomposity, unworthy to an eminent performer, as Whitehead 
of a man of genius.' has very happily done in his verses to 

Johnson had not observed that I was Mr. Garrick. 
in the room I followed him, however, ' Sir, I do not think Gray a first-rate 

and he agreed to meet me in the evening 35 poet. He has not a bold imagination, 
at the Mitre. I called on him, and we nor much command of words. The ob- 
went thither at nine. We had a good scurity in which he has involved himself 
supper, and port wine, of which he then will not persuade us that he is sublime, 
sometimes drank a bottle. The orthodox His Elegy in a Churchyard has a happy 
high-church sound of the Mitre, — the 4° selection of images, but I don't like what 
figure and manner of the celebrated are called his great things. His Ode 
Samuel Johnson, — the extraordinary which begins 
power and precision of his conversation, ,,-r^. ■ , ,, t^- 

and the pride, arising from finding myself R"^" ''.'^^ thee ruthless Kmg, . 

admitted as his companion, produced a 45 Confusion on thy banners wait! 

variety of sensations, and a pleasing ele- celebrated for its abruptness, 

vation of mmd beyond what i had ever , . • , ,1 u- *. u ^ 

,r • J r c A • , T^„^,o^i and plunging into the subject all. at once. 

before experienced, i find m my Journal r. , ^ u ? ^u u -^ ™ -^ „ 

,, r 11 ^- • . r ^ -^ /^ ^^^^ But such arts as these have no merit, un- 

the following minute of our conversa- . i. xu • ■ 1 wr J -^^ 

,. , • 1 *=",, , •, -11 „• i„(. ^ c- less when they are original. We admire 

tion, which, though it will give but a 5° ,, . ^ , .?. u <-., „ u„^ 

' r • . ■• ^ r 1 , J V •:^ them only once; and this abruptness has 

very famt notion of what passed, is, m -^ . '. ,,, , u j •«. t4. ^ 

•^ . , t ui ^ J ^^ if nothing new m it. We have had it often 

some degree, a valuable record and it , . * ,^ , -4. • *i, u 

will be curious in this view, as showing before. Nay, we have it m the old song 
how habitual to his mind were some of Johnny Armstrong: 
opinions which appear in his works. 55 Is there ever a man in all Scotland, 

' Colley Gibber, sir, was by no means From the highest estate to the lowest de- 
a blockhead, but by arrogating to himself gree. 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 431 



And then, sir, my part, sir, I think all christians, 

whether papists or protestants, agree in 

Yes, there is a man in Westmoreland, the essential articles, and that their differ- 

And Johnny Armstrong they do him call, ences are trivial, and rather political than 

5 religious.' 
There, now, you plunge at once into the We talked of belief in ghosts. He 

subject. You have no previous narra- said, 'Sir, I make a distinction between 
tion to lead you to it. The two next what a man may experience by the mere 
lines in that Ode are, I think, very good : strength of his imagination, and what 

10 imagination cannot possibly produce. 

"Though fanned by Conquest's crimson Thus, suppose I should think that I saw 

wmg, , a form, and heard a voice cry, " John- 

They mock the air with idle state. son, you are a very wicked fellow, and 

* * * unless you repent you will certainly be 

15 punished " ; my own unworthiness is so 

Finding him in a placid humor, and deeply impressed upon my mind, that I 
wishing to avail myself of the opportunity might imagine I thus saw and heard, and 
which I fortunately had of consulting a therefore I should not believe that an ex- 
sage, to hear whose wisdom, I conceived, ternal communication had been made to 
in the ardor of youthful imagination, that 20 me. But if a form should appear, and 
men filled with a noble enthusiasm for a voice should tell me that a particular 
intellectual im.provement would gladly man had died at a particular place, and 
have resorted from distant lands, — I a particular hour, a fact which I had 
opened my mind to him ingenuously, and no apprehension of, nor any means of 
gave him a little sketch of my life, to 25 knowing, and this fact, with all its 
which he was pleased to listen with great circumstances, should afterwards be un- 
attention. questionably proved, I should in that case 

I acknowledged that though educated be persuaded that I had supernatural in- 
very strictly in the principles of religion, telligence imparted to me.' 
I had for some time been misled into a 30 Here it is proper, once for all, to give 
certain degree of infidelity; but that I a true and fair statement of Johnson's 
was come now to a better way of think- way of thinking upon the question, 
ing, and was fully satisfied of the truth whether departed spirits are ever per- 
of the christian revelation, though I was mitted to appear in this world, or in any 
not clear as to every point considered to 35 way to operate upon human life. He has 
be orthodox. Being at all times a cu- been ignorantly misrepresented as weakly 
rious examiner of the human mind, and credulous upon that subject; and, there- 
pleased with an undisguised display of fore, though I feel an inclination to dis- 
what had passed in it, he called to me dain and treat with silent contempt so 
with warmth, ' Give me your hand, I 40 foolish a notion concerning my illustrious 
have taken a liking to you.' He then friend, yet, as I find it has gained ground, 
began to descant upon the force of testi- it is necessary to refute it. The real fact 
mony, and the little we could know of then is, that Johnson had a very philo- 
final causes; so that the objections of, sophical mind, and such a rational respect 
'Why was it so?' or 'Why was it not 45 for testimony, as to make him submit his 
so?' ought not to disturb us: adding, understanding to what was authentically 
that he himself had at one period been proved, though he could not comprehend 
guilty of a temporary neglect of religion, why it was so. Being thus disposed, he 
but that it was not the result of argu- was willing to inquire into the truth of 
ment, but mere absence of thought. 50 any relation of supernatural agency, a 

After having given credit to reports of general belief of which has prevailed in 
his bigotry, I was agreeably surprised all nations and ages. But so far was he 
when he expressed the following very lib- from being the dupe of implicit faith, 
eral sentiment, which has the additional that he examined the matter with a jeal- 
value of obviating an objection to our 55 ous attention, and no man was more 
holy religion, founded upon the discord- ready to refute its falsehood when he 
ant tenets of christians themselves: 'For had discovered it. Churchill, in his 



432 JAMES BOSVVELL 

poem entitled The Ghost, availed him- let me tell you, that to be a Scotch land- 
self of the absurd credulity imputed to lord, where you have a number of fami- 
Johnson, and drew a caricature of him lies dependent upon you, and attached to 
under the name of ' Pomposo,' represent- you, is, perhaps, as high a situation as 
ing him as one of the loelievers of the 5 humanity can arrive at. A merchant upon 
story of a ghost in Cock-lane, which, in the 'Change of London, with a hundred 
the year 1762, had gained very general thousand pounds, is nothing; an English 
credit in London. Many of my readers, Duke, with an immense fortune, is noth- 
I am convinced, are to this hour under ing; he has no tenants who consider them- 
an impression that Johnson was thus 10 selves as under his patriarchal care, and 
foolishly deceived. It will therefore sur- who will follow him to the field upon an 
prise them a good deal when they are in- emergency.' 
formed upon undoubted authority, that * * * 

Johnson was one of those by whom the I complained to him that I had not yet 

imposture was detected. The story had ^5 acquired much knowledge, and asked his 
become so popular, that he thought it advice as to my studies. He said, ' Don't 
should be investigated; and in this re- talk of study, now. I will give you a 
search he was assisted by the Rev. Dr. plan; but it will require some time to 
Douglas, now bishop of Salisbury, the consider of it.' ' It is very good in you,' 
great detector of impostures ; who in- 20 I replied, ' to allow me to be with you 
forms me that after the gentlemen who thus. Had it been foretold to me some 
went and examined into the evidence years ago that I should pass an evening 
were satisfied of its falsity, Johnson wrote with the author of the Rambler, how 
in their presence an account of it, which should I have exulted ! ' What I then 
was published in the newspapers and 25 expressed was sincerely from my heart. 
Gentleman's Magazine, and undeceived He was satisfied that it was, and cordially 
the world. answered, ' Sir, I am glad we have met. 

Our conversation proceeded. ' Sir,' I hope we shall pass many evenings, and 
said he, ' I am a friend to subordination mornings too, together.' We finished a 
as most conducive to the happiness of 3° couple of bottles of port, and sat till be- 
society. There is a reciprocal pleasure in tween one and two in the morning, 
governing and being governed.' He wrote this year, in the Critical Re- 

' Dr. Goldsmith is one of the first men view, the account of Telemachus, a 
we now have as an author, and he is a Mask, by the Rev. George Graham, of 
very worthy man too. He has been loose 35 Eton College. The subject of this beau- 
in his principles, but he is coming right.' tiful poem was particularly interesting 

I mentioned Mallet's tragedy of to Johnson, who had much experience 
Elvira, which had been acted the pre- of ' the conflict of opposite principles,' 
ceding winter at Drury-lane, and that which he describes as ' the contention be- 
the Honorable Andrew Erskine, Mr. 4° tween pleasure and virtue, a struggle 
Dempster, and myself, had joined in which will always be continued while the 
writing a pamphlet, entitled Critical present system of nature shall subsist; 
Strictures, against it. That the mildness nor can history or poetry exhibit more 
of Dempster's disposition had, however, than pleasure triumphing over virtue, and 
relented; and he had candidly said, 'We 45 virtue subjugating pleasure.' 
have hardly a right to abuse this tragedy, As Dr. Oliver Goldsmith will fre- 

for, bad as it is, how vain should either quently appear in this narrative, I shall 
of us be to write one not near so good ! ' endeavor to make my readers in some 
Johnson: 'Why, no sir; this is not just degree acquainted with his singular char- 
reasoning. You may abuse a tragedy, 5o acter. He was a native of Ireland, and 
though you cannot write one. You may a contemporary with Mr. Burke, at 
scold a carpenter who has made you a Trinity College, Dublin, but did not then 
bad table, though you cannot make a give much promise of future celebrity, 
table. It is not your trade to make He, however, observed to Mr. Malone, 
tables.' 55 that ' though he made no great figure in 

When I talked to him of the paternal mathematics, which was a study in much 
estate to which I was heir, he said, ' Sir, repute there, he could turn an Ode of 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 433 



Horace into English better than any of wherever he was, he frequently talked 
them.' He afterwards studied physic in carelessly without knowledge of the sub- 
Edinburgh, and upon the Continent : and, ject, or even without thought. His per- 
I have been informed, was enabled to son was short, his countenance coarse and 
pursue his travels on foot, partly by de- 5 vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar 
manding, at Universities, to enter the lists awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman, 
as a disputant, by which, according to the Those who were in any way distin- 
custom of many of them, he was entitled guished, excited envy in him to so ridicu- 
to the premium of a crown, when, luckily lous an excess, that the instances of it 
for him, his challenge was not accepted ; 10 are hardly credible. When accompany- 
so that, as I once observed to Johnson, ing two beautiful young ladies,- with 
he disputed his passage through Europe, their mother, on a tour in France, he was 
He then came to England, and was em- seriously angry that more attention was 
ployed successively in the capacities of paid to them than to him; and once at 
an usher to an academy, a corrector of i5 the exhibition of the Fantoccini in Lon- 
the press, a reviewer, and a writer for a don, when those who sat next to him ob- 
newspaper. He had sagacity enough to served with what dexterity a puppet was 
cultivate assiduously the acquaintance of made to toss a pike, he could not bear 
Johnson, and his faculties were gradually thj^t it should have such praise, and ex- 
enlarged by the contemplation of such a 20 claimed, with some warmth, ' Pshaw ! I 
model. To me and many others it ap- can do it better myself.' ^ 
peared that he studiously copied the man- He, I am afraid, had no settled system 

ner of Johnson, though, indeed, upon a of any sort, so that his conduct must not 
smaller scale. be strictly scrutinized; but his affections 

At this time I think he had pubHshedas were social and generous, and when he 
nothing with his name, though it was had money he gave it away very liberally, 
pretty generally known that one Dr. His desire of imaginary consequence 
Goldsmith was the author of An Inquiry predominated over his attention to truth. 
into the present State of Polite Learning When he began to rise into notice, he 
in Europe, and of The Citizen of the 3o said he had a brother who was dean of 
World, a series of letters supposed to be Durham, a fiction so easily detected, that 
written from London by a Chinese. No it is wonderful how he should have been 
man had the art of displaying with more so inconsiderate as to hazard it. He 
advantage, as a writer, whatever literary boasted to me at this time of the power 
acquisitions he made. Nihil quod tetigit 35 of his pen in commanding money, which 
non ornavit ^ [There was nothing he I believe was true in a certain degree, 
touched he did not adorn]. His mind re- though in the instance he gave he was 
sembled a fertile but thin soil. There by no means correct. He told me that 
was a quick, but not a strong, vegeta- he had sold a novel for four hundred 
tion, of whatever chanced to be thrown 40 pounds. This was his Vicar of IVake- 
upon it. No deep root could be struck, field. But Johnson informed me that he 
The oak of the forest did not grow there ; had made the bargain for Goldsmith, and 
but the elegant shrubbery and the fra- the price was sixty pounds. ' And, sir,' 
grant parterre appeared in gay succession, said he, ' a sufficient price too, when it 
It has been generally circulated and be- 45 was sold ; for then the fame of Goldsmith 
lieved that he was a mere fool in con- had not been elevated, as it afterwards 
versation; but, in truth, this has been was, by his Traveller; and the bookseller 
greatly exaggerated. He had, no doubt, had such faint hopes of profit by his bar- 
a more than common share of that hurry gain, that he kept the manuscript by him 
of ideas which we often find in his 5o a long time, and did not publish it till 
countrymen, and which sometimes pro- after The Traveller had appeared. Then, 
duces a laughable confusion in express- 
ing them. He was very much what the *Miss Homecks, one of whom is now married to 
French call Un etourdi, and from vanity ^^"^^^ Bunbury, Esq., and the other to Colonel 
and an eager desire of being conspicuous 55 "^^He went home with Mr. Burke to supper; and 

broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the com- 

1 See his epitaph in Westminster Abbey, written pany how much better he could jump over a stick 
by Dr. Johnson. than the puppets. 



434 JAMES BOSWELL 



t6 be sure, it was accidentally worth more be sure, he is a tree that cannot produce 

money.' good fruit : he only bears crabs. But, sir, 

Mrs. Piozzi and Sir John Hawkins a tree that produces a great many crabs, 

have strangely misstated the history of is better than a tree which produces only 



* * * 



Goldsmith's situation and Johnson's 5 a few.' 
friendly interference, when this novel was 
sold. I shall give it authentically from Let me here apologize for the imper- 

Johnson's own exact narration : — ' I re- feet manner in which I am obliged to ex- 
ceived one morning a message from poor hibit Johnson's conversation at this 
Goldsmith that he was in great distress, 10 period. In the early part of my acquaint- 
and, as it was not in his power to come to ance with him, I was so wrapt in adnii- 
me, begging that I would come to him as ration of his extraordinary colloquial 
soon as possible. I sent him a guinea, and talents, and so little accustomed to his 
promised to come to him directly. I ac- peculiar mode of expression, that I found 
cordingly went as soon as I was dressed, is it extremely difficult to recollect and re- 
and found that his landlady had arrested cord his conversation with its genuine 
him for his rent, at which he was in a vigor and vivacity. In progress of time, 
violent passion. I perceived that he had when my mind was, as it were, strongly 
already changed my guinea, and had got a impregnated with the Johnsonian aether, 
bottle of Madeira and a glass before him. 20 I could with much more facility and ex- 
I put the cork into the bottle, desired he actness, carry in my memory and commit 
would be calm, and began to talk to him to paper the exuberant variety of his 
of the means by which he might be ex- wisdom and wit. 

tricated. He then told me that he had a At this time Miss Williams, as she was 

novel ready for the press, which he pro- ^5 then called, though she did not reside 
duced to me. I looked into it, and saw with him in the Temple under his roof, 
its merits; told the landlady I should re- but had lodgings in Bolt-court, Fleet- 
turn; and, having gone to a bookseller, street, had so much of his attention, that 
sold it for sixty pounds. I brought Gold- he every night drank tea with her before 
smith the money, and he discharged his 3° he went home, however late it tnight be, 
rent, not without rating his landlady in and she always sat up for him. This it 
a high tone for having used him so ill.' may be conjectured, was not alone a 

My next meeting with Joh'nson was on proof of his regard for her, but of his own 

Friday, the ist of July, when he and I unwillingness to go into solitude, before 

and Dr. Goldsmith supped at the 35 that unseasonable hour at which he had 

Mitre. habituated himself to expect the oblivion 

* * * of repose. Dr. Goldsmith, being a privi- 

He talked very contemptuously of leged man, went with him this night, 
Churchill's poetry, observing, that ' it had strutting away, and calling to me with an 
a temporary currency, only from its 4° air of superiority, like that of an esoteric 
audacity of abuse, and being filled with over an exoteric disciple of a sage of 
living names, and that it would sink into antiquity, 'I go to Miss Williams.' I 
oblivion.' I ventured to hint that he was confess, I then envied him this mighty 
not quite a fair judge, as Churchill had privilege, of which he seemed so proud; 
attacked him violently. Johnson : ' Nay 45 but it was not long before I obtained the 
sir, I am a very fair judge. He did not same mark of distinction, 
attack me violently till he found I did * * * 

not like his poetry; and his attack on me On Wednesday, July 6, he was en- 

shall not prevent me from continuing to gaged to sup with me at my lodgings in 
say what I think of him, from an appre- 5o Downing-street, Westminster. But on 
hension that it may be ascribed to re- the preceding night my landlord having 
sentment. No, sir, I called the fellow a behaved very rudely to me and some com- 
blockhead at first, and I will call him a pany who were with me, I had resolved 
blockhead still. However, I will ac- not to remain another night in his house, 
knowledge that I have a better opinion of 55 1 was exceedingly uneasy at the awkward 
him now than I once had ; for he has appearance I supposed I should make to 
shown more fertility than I expected. To Johnson and the other gentlemen whom 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 435 



I had invited, not being able to receive could not be politically true ; and as the 
them at home, and being obliged to order king might, in the exercise of his regal 
supper at the Mitre. I went to Johnson power, command and cause the doing of 
in the morning", and talked of it as a seri- what was wrong, it certainly might be 
ous distress. He laughed and said, ' Con- 5 said, in sense and in reason, that he 
sider, sir, how insignificant this will ap- could do wrong.' Johnson : ' Sir, you 
pear a twelvemonth hence.' Were this are to consider that in our constitution, 
consideration to be applied to most of the according to its true principles, the king 
little vexatious incidents of life, by is the head, he is supreme ; he is above 
which our quiet is too often disturbed, lo everything, and there is no power by 
it would prevent many painful sensa- which he can be tried. Therefore, it is, 
tions. I have tried it frequently with sir, that we hold the king can do no 
good effect. ' There is nothing,' con- wrong ; that whatever may happen to be 
tinned he, ' in this mighty misfortune ; wrong in government, may not be above 
nay, we shall be better at the Mitre.' I 'S our reach by being ascribed to majesty, 
told him that I had been at Sir John Redress is always to be had against op- 
Fielding's office, complaining of my land- pression by punishing the immediate 
lord, and had been informed that though agents. The king, though he should 
I had taken my lodgings for a year, I command, cannot force a judge to con- 
might, upon proof of his bad behavior, 20 Jemn a man unjustly; therefore it is 
quit them when I pleased, without being the judge whom we prosecute and pun- 
under an obligation to pay rent for any ish. Political institutions are formed 
longer time than while I possessed them, upon the consideration of what will most 
The fertility of Johnson's mind could frequently tend to the good of the whole, 
show itself even upon so small a matter ^^ although now and then exceptions may 
as this. * Why, sir,' said he, ' I suppose occur. Thus it is better in general that 
this must be the law, since you have been a nation should have a supreme legisla- 
told so in Bow-street. But if your land- tive power, although it may at times be 
lord could hold you to your bargain, and abused. And then, sir, there is this 
the lodgings should be yours for a year, 30 consideration, that if the abuse he enor- 
you may certainly use them as you think moiis, nature zvill rise up, and claiming 
fit. So, sir, you may quarter two life- her original rights, overturn a corrupt 
guardsmen upon him; or you may send political system.' I mark this animated 
the greatest scoundrel you can find into sentence with peculiar pleasure, as a 
your apartments ; or you may say that 35 noble instance of that truly dignified 
you want to make some experiments in spirit of freedom which ever glowed in 
natural philosophy, and may burn a his heart, though he was charged with 
large quantity of assafoetida in his slavish tenets by superficial observers; 
house.' because he was at all times indignant 

I had as my guests this evening at the 40 against that false patriotism, that pre- 
Mitre Tavern, Dr. Johnson, Dr. Gold- tended love of freedom, that unruly rest- 
smith, Mr. Thomas Davies, Mr. Eccles, lessness, which is inconsistent with the 
an Irish gentleman for whose agreeable stable authority of any good government, 
company I was obliged to Mr. Davies, This generous sentiment, which he ut- 
and the Rev. Mr. John Ogilvie, who was 45 tered with great fervor, struck me ex- 
desirous of being in company with my ceedingly, and stirred my blood to that 
illustrious friend, while I, in my turn, pitch of fancied resistance, the possibility 
was proud to have the honor of showing of which I am glad to keep in mind, but 
one of my countrymen upon what easy to which I trust I never shall be forced, 
terms Johnson permitted me to live with 5o ' Great abilities,' said he, ' are not 
him. requisite for an historian, for in histori- 

Goldsmith, as usual, endeavored with cal composition all the greatest powers of 
too much eagerness to shine, and dis- the human mind are quiescent. He has 
puted very warmly with Johnson against facts ready to his hand, so there is no 
the well-known maxim of the British 55 exercise of invention. Imagination is 
constitution, ' the king can do no wrong ' ; not required in any high degree ; only 
affirming that ' what was morally false about as much as is used in the lower 



436 JAMES BOSWELL 



kinds of poetry. Some penetration, ac- vegetables, and for the animals who eat 
curacy, and coloring, will fit a man for those vegetables, and for the animals who 
the task, if he can give the application eat those animals.' This observation of 
which is necessary.' his, aptly enough introduced a good sup- 

' Bayle's Dictionary is a very useful 5 per; and I soon forgot, in Johnson's corn- 
work for those to consult who love the pany, the influence of a moist atmosphere, 
biographical part of literature, which is Feeling myself now quite at ease as his 

what I love most.' companion, though I had all possible 

Talking of the eminent writers in reverence for him, I expressed a regret 
Queen Anne's reign, he observed, ' I lo that I could not be so easy with my 
think Dr. Arbuthnot the first man among father, though he was not much older 
them. He was the most universal genius, than Johnson, and certainly, however re- 
being an excellent physician, a man of spectable, had not more learning and 
deep learning, and a man of much humor, greater abilities to depress me. I asked 
Mr. Addison was, to be sure, a great i? him the reason of this. Johnson : ' Why 
man; his learning was not profound, but sir, I am a man of the world. I live in 
his morality, his humor, and his elegance the world, and I take, in some degree, 
of writing set him very high.' the color of the world as it moves along. 

Mr. Ogilvie was unlucky enough to Your father is a judge in a remote part 
.choose for the topic of his conversation, 20 of the island, and all his notions are taken 
the praises of his native country. He from the old world. Besides, sir, there 
began with saying, that there was very must always be a struggle between a 
rich land around Edinburgh. Goldsmith, father and a son, while one aims at power 
who had studied physic there, contra- and the other at independence.' I said, 
dieted this, very untruly, with a sneering 25 I was afraid my father would force me 
laugh. Disconcerted a little by this, Mr. to be a lawyer. Johnson : ' Sir, you 
Ogilvie then took a new ground, where, need not be afraid of his forcing you to 
I suppose, he thought himself perfectly be a laborious practising lawyer; that is 
safe; for he observed, that Scotland had not in his power. For, as the proverb 
a great many noble wild prospects. 30 says, " One man may lead a horse to the 
Johnson: 'I believe, sir, you have a water, but twenty cannot make him 
great many. Norway, too, has noble drink." He may be displeased that you 
wild prospects; and Lapland is remark- are not what he wishes you to be; but 
able for prodigious noble wild prospects, that displeasure will not go far. If he 
But, sir, let me tell you, the noblest pros- 35 insists only on your having as much law 
pect which a Scotchman ever sees is the as is necessary for a man of property, 
high-road that leads him to England ! ' and then endeavors to get you into par- 
This unexpected and pointed sally pro- liament, he is quite in the right.' 
duced a roar of applause. After all. He enlarged very convincingly upon 

however, those, who admire the rude 4° the excellence of rime over blank verse 
grandeur of nature, cannot deny it to in English poetry. I mentioned to him 
Caledonia. that Dr. Adam Smith, in his lectures 

On Saturday, July 9, I found Johnson upon composition, when I studied under 
surrounded with a numerous levee, but him in the College of Glasgow, had main- 
have not preserved any part of his 45 tained the same opinion strenuously, and 
conversation. On the 14th we had an- I repeated some of his arguments. John- 
other evening by ourselves at the Mitre. son : ' Sir, I was once in company v/ith 
It happening to be a very rainy night, I Smith, and we did not take to each other ; 
made some commonplace observations on but had I ?:nown that he loved rime as 
the relaxation of nerves and depression 5° much as you tell me he does, I should 
of spirits which such weather occasioned; have hugged him.' 

adding, however, that it was good for the Talking of those who denied the truth 

vegetable creation. Johnson, who, as we of Christianity, he said : ' It is always 
have already seen, denied that the tem- easy to be on the negative side. If a 
perature of the air had any influence on 55 man were now to deny that there is salt 
the human frame, answered, with a smile upon the table, you could not reduce him 
of ridicule^ ' Why, yes, sir, it is good for to an absurdity. Come, let us try this a 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 437 



little further. I deny that Canada is It is true, that I cannot now curse (smil- 
taken, and I can support my denial by ing) the house of Hanover; nor would it 
pretty good arguments. The French are be decent for me to drink King James's 
a much more numerous people than we; health in the wine that King George gives 
and it is not likely that they would allow 5 me money to pay for. But, sir, I think 
us to take it. " But the ministry have that the pleasure of cursing the house of 
assured us, in all the formality of The Hanover, and drinking King James's 
Gazette, that it is taken." — Very health, are amply overbalanced by three 
true. But the ministry have put us to hundred pounds a year.' 
an enormous expense by the war in 10 * * * 

America, and it is their interest to pur- He recommended to me to keep a 

suade us that we have got something for journal of my life, full and unreserved. 
our money. " But the fact is confirmed He said it would be a very good exercise, 
by thousands of men who were at the and would yield me great satisfaction 
taking of it." Ay, but these men have 15 when the particulars were faded from my 
still more interest in deceiving us. They remembrance. I was uncommonly fortu- 
don't want that you should think the nate in having had a previous coincidence 
French have beat them, but that they of opinion with him upon this subject, for 
have beat the French. Now suppose you I had kept such a journal for some time; 
should go over and find that it really is 20 and it was no small pleasure to me to 
taken, that would only satisfy yourself; have this to tell him, and to receive his 
for when you come home we will not be- approbation. He counseled me to keep it 
lieve you. We will say, you have been private, and said I might surely have a 
bribed. Yet, sir, notwithstanding all friend who would burn it in case of my 
these plausible objections, we have no 25 death. From this habit I have been en- 
doubt that Canada is really ours. Such abled to give the world so many anecdotes, 
is the weight of common testimony, which would otherwise have been lost to 
How much stronger are the evidences of posterity. I mentioned that I was afraid 
the Christian religion ! ' I put into my journal too many little in- 

* Idleness is a disease which must be 30 cidents. Johnson : ' There is nothing 
cornbated; but I would not advise a sir, too little for so little a creature as 
rigid adherence to a particular plan of man. It is by studying little things that 
study. I myself have never persisted in we attain the great art of having as little 
any plan for two days together. A man misery, and as much happiness as pos- 
ought to read just as inclination leads 35 sible.' 

him; for what he reads as. a task will do Next morning Mr. Dempster happened 

him little good. A young man should to call on me, and was so much struck 
read five hours in a day, and so may ac- even with the imperfect account which I 
quire a great deal of knowledge.' gave him of Dr. Johnson's conversation. 

To such a degree of unrestrained frank- 40 that to his honor be it recorded, when I 
ness had he now accustomed me that in complained that drinking port and sitting 
the course of this evening I talked of the up late with him, affected my nerves for 
numerous reflections which had been some time after, he said, ' One had better 
thrown out against him, on account of his be palsied at eighteen, than not keep corn- 
having accepted a pension from his pres- 45 pany with such a man.' 
ent Majesty. ' Why, sir,' said he, with a On Tuesday, July i8th, I found tall Sir 

hearty laugh, ' it is a mighty foolish noise Thomas Robinson sitting with Johnson, 
that they make.^ I have accepted of a Sir Thomas said, that the king of Prus- 
pension as a reward which has been sia valued himself upon three things; 
thought due to my Hterary merit; and 50 upon being a hero, a musician, and an 
now that I have this pension, I am the author. Johnson : ' Pretty well, sir, for 
same man in every respect that I have one man. As to his being an author, I 
ever been; I retain the same principles. have not looked at his poetry; but his 

, „,, , .• J u -J, , , . prose is poor stuff. He writes just as you 

^ When I mentioned the same idle clamor to him rr „_ ■\rii->r.i i ■, 

several years afterwards, he said, with a smile, ' I " "^^^ SUppOSC VoItaire S footboy tO do, who 

wish my pension were twice as large, that they has been his amanuensis. He has such 
might make twice as much noise." parts as the valet might have, and about 



438 JAMES BOSWELL 



as much of the coloring of the style as of knowledge is the natural feeling of 
mio-ht be got by transcribing his works.' mankind; and every human being whose 
When I was at Ferney, I repeated this to mind is not debauched, will be wilhng to 
Voltaire, in order to reconcile him some- give all that he has to get knowledge.' 
what to Johnson, whom he, in affecting 5 We landed at the Old Swan, and 
the English mode of expression, had pre- walked to Billingsgate, where we took 
viously characterized as 'a superstitious oars and moved smoothly along the silver 
dog;' but after hearing such a criticism Thames. It was a very fine day. We 
on Frederick the Great, with whom he were entertained with the immense 
was then on bad terms, he exclaimed, ' An lo number and variety of ships that were 
honest fellow ! ' lying at anchor, and with the beautiful 

* * * country on each side of the river. 

I again begged his advice as to my I talked of preaching, and of the great 
method of study at Utrecht. * Come,' success which those called Methodists 
said he, ' let us make a day of it. Let us 15 have. Johnson : ' Sir, it is owing to 
go down to Greenwich and dine, and talk their expressing themselves in a plain and 
of it there.' The following Saturday was familiar manner, which is the only way 
fixed for this excursion. to do good to the common people, and 

As we walked along the Strand to- which clergymen of genius and learning 
night, arm in arm, a woman of the town 20 ought to do from a principle of duty, when 
accosted us, in the usual enticing manner, it is suited to their congregations ; a prac- 
* No, no, my girl,' said Johnson, ' it won't tice, for which they will be praised by 
do.' He, however, did not treat her with men of sense. To insist against drunk- 
harshness; and we talked of the wretched enness as a crime, because it debases rea- 
life of such women, and agreed that much 25 son: the noblest faculty of man, would 
more misery than happiness, upon the be of no service to the common people, 
whole, is produced by illicit commerce but to tell them that they may die in a 
between the sexes. fit of drunkenness and show them liow 

On Saturday, July 30, Dr. Johnson and dreadful that would be, cannot fail to 
I took a sculler at the Temple-stairs, and 30 make a deep impression. Sir, when your 
set out for Greenwich. I asked him if Scotch clergy give up their homely man- 
he really thought a knowledge of the ner, religion will soon decay in that 
Greek and Latin languages an essential country.' 

requisite to a good education. Johnson: I was much pleased to find myself with 

' Most certainly, sir ; for those who know 35 Johnson at Greenwich, which he cele- 
them have a very great advantage over brates in his London as a favorite scene, 
those who do not. Nay, sir, it is won- I had the poem in my pocket, and read 

derful what a difference learning makes the lines aloud with enthusiasm: 
upon people even in the common inter- 
course of life, which does not appear to 40 ' On Thames's banks in silent thought we 
be much connected with it.' ' And yet,' stood : 

said 1, ' people go through the world very Whei-e Greenwich smiles upon the silver 
well and carry on the business of life, flood: 

to good advantage without learning.' Pleased with the seat which gave Eliza 
Johnson: 'Why, sir, that may be true 45 birth, 

in cases where learning cannot possibly We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth.' 
be of any use ; for instance, this boy rows 

us as well without learning, as if he He remarked that the structure of 

could sing the song of Orpheus to the Greenwich hospital was too magnificent 
Argonauts, who were the first sailors.' 50 for a place of charity, and that its parts 
He then called to the boy, * What would were too much detached, to make one 
you give, my lad, to know about the Ar- great whole. 

gonauts?' 'Sir,' said the boy, 'I would Buchanan, he said, was a very fine 

give what I have.' Johnson was much poet; and observed, that he was the first 
pleased with his answer, and we gave 55 who complimented a lady, by ascribing 
him a double fare. Dr. Johnson then to her the different perfections of the 
turning to me, ' Sir,' said he, ' a desire heathen goddesses ; but that Johnstone 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 439 



improved upon this, by making his lady, our sail up the river, in our return to 
at the same time, free from their de- London, was by no means so pleasant as 
fects. in the morning; for the night air was so 

He dwelt upon Buchanan's elegant cold that it made me shiver. I was the 
verses to Mary Queen of Scots, Nynipha 5 more sensible of it from having sat up 
Caledoniae,- [Nymph of Scotland] etc., all the night before recollecting and writ- 
and spoke with enthusiasm of the beauty ing in my journal what I thought worthy 
of Latin verse. ' All the modern Ian- of preservation ; an exertion which dur- 
guages,' said he, ' cannot furnish so me- ing the first part of my acquaintance with 
lodious a line as 10 Johnson, I frequently made. I remember 

having sat up four nights in one week, 
Formosam resonare doces Amarillida silvas. without being much incommoded in the 

[You teach the woods to re-echo beauteous daytime. 
Amarillis.] Johnson, whose robust frame was not 

15 in the least affected by the cold, scolded 

Afterwards he entered upon the busi- me, as if my shivering had been a paltry 
ness of the day, which was to give me his effeminacy, saying, ' Why ,do you shiver?' 
advice as to a course of study. And Sir William Scott, of the Commons, told 
here I am to mention with much regret me that when he complained of a head- 
that my record of what he said is mis- 20 ache in the post-chaise, as they were 
erably scanty. I recollect with admira- traveling together to Scotland, Johnson 
tion an animating blaze of eloquence, treated him in the same manner : ' At 
which roused every intellectual power in your age, sir, I had no headache.' It is 
me to the highest pitch, but must have not easy to make allowance for sensations 
dazzled me so much that my memory ^5 in others, which we ourselves have not 
could not preserve the substance of his at the time. 

discourse ; for the note which I find of We concluded the day at the Turk's 

it is no more than this : — ' He ran over Head coffee-house very socially. He was 
the grand scale of human knowledge; ad- pleased to listen to a particular account 
vised me to select some particular branch 30 which I gave him of my family, and of 
to excel in, but to acquire a little of every its hereditary estate, as to the extent and 
kind.' The defect of my minutes will be population of which he asked questions, 
fully supplied by a long letter upon the and made calculations ; recommending, at 
subject, which he favored me with after the same time, a liberal kindness to the 
I had been some time at Utrecht, and 35 tenantry, as people over whom the pro- 
which my readers will have the pleasure prietor was placed by Providence. He 
to peruse in its proper place. took delight in hearing my description of 

We walked in the evening, in Green- the romantic seat of my ancestors. ' 1 
wich Park. Pie asked me, I suppose, by must be there, sir,' said he, ' and we will 
way of trying my disposition, ' Is not this 40 live in the old castle ; and if there is not 
very fine? ' Having no exquisite relish of a room in it remaining, we will build one.' 
the beauties of nature, and being more I was highly flattered, but could scarcely 
delighted with ' the busy hum of men,' indulge a hope that Auchinleck would in- 
I answered, * Yes, sir, but not equal to deed be honored by his presence, and cele- 
Fleet-street.' Johnson : ' You are right, 45 brated by a description, as it afterward 
sir.' was, in his Journey to the Western 

I am aware that many of my readers Islands. 
may censure my want of taste. Let me. After we had again talked of my set- 

however, shelter myself under the .author- ting out for Holland, he said, ' I must 
ity of a very fashionable baronet in the 5° see thee out of England ; I will accom- 
brilliant world, who, on his attention pany you to Harwich.' I could not find 
being called to the fragrance of a May words to express what I felt upon this 
evening in the country, observed, ' This unexpected and very great mark of his 
may be very well ; but, for my part, I affectionate regard. 

prefer the smell of a flambeau at the 55 Next day, Sunday, July 31, I told him 
play-house.' I had been that morning at a meeting of 

We stayed so long at Greenwich, that the people called Quakers, where I had 



440 JAMES BOSWELL 



heard a woman preach. Johnson: 'Sir, stories of him, and to ascribe to him 
a woman's preaching is hke a dog's walk- very strange sayings. Johnson : ' What 
ing on his hind legs. It is not done well ; do they make me say, sir?' Boswell: 
but you are surprised to find it done at * Why, sir, as an instance very strange 
all.' 5 indeed,' laughing heartily as I spoke, 

On Tuesday, August 2 (the day of my ' David Hume told me, you said that you 
departure from London having been fixed would stand before a battery of cannon 
for the 5th), Dr. Johnson did me the to restore the Convocation to its full 
honor to pass a part of the morning with powers.' Little did I apprehend that he 
me at my chambers. He said, ' that he 10 had actually said this : but I was soon 
always felt an inclination to do nothing.' convinced of my error; for, with a deter- 
I observed, that it was strange to think mined look he thundered out, ' And 
that the most indolent man in Britain had would I not, sir? Shall the Presbyterian 
written the most laborious work, The Kirk of Scotland have its General As- 
EngHsh Dictionary. 15 sembly, and the Church of England be 

I mentioned an imprudent publication, denied its Convocation?' He was walk- 
by a certain friend of his, at an early ing up and down the room while I told 
period of life, and asked him if he thought him the anecdote ; but, when he uttered 
it would hurt him. Johnson: 'No, sir; this explosion of high-church zeal he had 
not much. It may, perhaps, be mentioned 20 come close to my chair, and his eyes 
at an election.' flashed with indignation. I bowed to the 

I had now made good my title to be a storm, and diverted the force of it, by 
privileged man, and was carried by him leading him to expatiate on the influence 
in the evening to drink tea with Miss Wil- which religion derived from maintaining 
liams, whom, though under the misfor- 25 the church with great external respec- 
tune of having lost her sight, I found to tability. 

be agreeable in conversation, for she had I must not omit to mention that he this 

a variety of literature, and expressed her- year wrote The Life of Ascham, and the 
self well; but her peculiar value was the Dedication to the Earl of Shaftesbury, 
intimacy in which she had long lived with 30 prefixed to the edition of that writer's 
Johnson, by which she was well ac- English works, published by Mr. Bennet 
quainted with his habits, and knew how On Friday, August 5, we set out early 

to lead him on to talk. in the morning in the Harwich stage- 

After tea he carried me to what he coach. A fat elderly gentlewoman, and 
called his walk, which was a long nar- 35 a young Dutchman, seemed the most in- 
row paved court in the neighborhood, clined among us to conversation. At the 
overshadowed by some trees. There we inn where we dined, the gentlewoman 
sauntered a considerable time, and I com- said that she had done her best to edu- 
plained to him that my love of London cate her children; and particularly, that 
and of his company was such, that 1 40 she had never suffered them to be a 
shrunk almost from the thought of going moment idle. Johnson: *I wish, ma- 
away even to travel, which is generally dam, you would educate, me too; for I 
so much desired by young men. He have been an idle fellow all my life.' ' I 
roused me by manly and spirited con- am sure, sir,' said she, ' you have not 
versation. He advised me, when settled 45 been idle.' Johnson : ' Nay, madam, it 
in. any place abroad, to study with an is very true: and that gentleman there, 
eagerness after knowledge, and to apply pointing to me, has been idle. He was 
to Greek an hour every day ; and when idle at Edinburgh. His father sent him to 
I was moving about, to read diligently Glasgow, where he continued to be idle, 
the great book of mankind. 50 He then came to London, where he has 

On Wednesday, August 3, we had our been very idle ; and now he is going to 
last social evening at the Turk's Head Utrecht, where he will be as idle as ever.' 
coffee-house, before my setting out for I asked him privately how he could ex- 
foreign parts. I had the misfortune, be- pose me so. Johnson : ' Poh, poh ! ' said 
fore we parted, to irritate him uninten- 55 he, ' they knew nothing about you, and 
tionally. I mentioned to him how com- will think of it no more.' In the after- 
mon it was in the world to tell absurd noon the gentlewoman talked violently 



LIFE OF JOHNSON 441 



against the Roman Catholics, and of the does not mind his belly will hardly mind 
horrors of the inquisition. To the utter anything else.' He now appeared to me 
astonishment of all the passengers but Jean Bull philosophc, and he was for the 
myself, who knew that he could talk upon moment not only serious, but vehement, 
any side of a question, he defended the 5 yet I have heard him, upon other occa- 
inquisition, and maintained that ' false sions, talk with great contempt of peo- 
doctrine should be checked on its first ap- pie who were anxious to gratify their 
pearance ; that the civil power should palates : and the 206th number of his 
unite with the church in punishing those Rambler is a masterly essay against gu- 
who dare to attack the established re- 10 losity. His practice, indeed, I must ac- 
ligion, and that such only were punished knowledge, may be considered as casting 
by the inquisition.' He had in his the balance of his different opinions upon 
pocket, Pomponius Mela de Situ Orbis, this subject; for I never knew any man 
in which he read occasionally, and who relished good eating more than he 
seemed very intent upon ancient geogra- 15 did. When at table he was totally ab- 
phy. Though by no means niggardly, his sorbed in the business of the moment: 
attention to what was generally right was his looks seemed riveted to his plate ; nor 
so minute, that having observed at one of would he, unless when in very high com- 
the stages that I ostentatiously gave a pany, say one word, or even pay the least 
shilling to the coachman, when the custom 20 attention to what was said by others, till 
was for each passenger to give only six- he had satisfied his appetite, which was 
pence, he took me aside and scolded me, so fierce, and indulged with such intense- 
saying that what I had done would make ness, that while in the act of eating, the 
the coachman dissatisfied with all the rest veins of his forehead swelled, and gener- 
of the passengers, who gave him no more 25 ally a strong perspiration was visible, 
than his due. To those whose sensations were delicate, 

* * * this could not but be disgusting; and it 

Having stopped a night at Colchester, was doubtless not very suitable to the 
Johnson talked of that town with venera- 30 character of a philosopher, who should 
tion, for having stood a siege for Charles be distirfguished by self-command. But 
the First. The Dutchman alone now re- it must be owned that Johnson, though he 
mained with us. He spoke English toler- could be rigidly abstemious, was not a 
ably well ; and thinking to recommend temperate man either in eating or drink- 
himself to us by expatiating on the superi- 3s ing. He could refrain, but he could not 
ority of the criminal jurisprudence of use moderately. He told me that he had 
this country over that of Holland, he in- fasted two days without inconvenience, 
veighed against the barbarity of putting and that he had never been hungry but 
an accused person to the torture, in order once. They who beheld with wonder 
to force a confession. But Johnson was 40 how much he ate upon all occasions, when 
as ready for this as for the inquisition, his dinner was to his taste, could not 
' Why, sir, you do not, I find, understand easily conceive what he must have meant 
the law of your own country. To tor- by hunger ; and not only was he remark- 
ture in Holland is considered as a favor able for the extraordinary quantity which 
to an accused person ; for no man is put 45 he ate, but he was, or affected to be, a 
to the torture there, unless there is as man of very nice discernment in the 
much evidence against him as would science of cookery. He used to descant 
amount to conviction in England. An ac- critically on the dishes which had been 
cused person, among you, therefore, has at table where he had dined or supped, 
one chance more to escape punishment 50 and to recollect very minutely what he 
than those who are tried among us.' had liked. I remember when he was in 

At supper this night he talked of good Scotland, his praising ' Gordon's palates ' 
eating with uncommon satisfaction, (a dish of palates at the Honorable Alex- 
' Some people,' said he, 'have a foolish ander Gordon's) with a v/armth of ex- 
way of not minding, or pretending not to 55 pression which might have done honor to 
mind, what they eat. For my part, I more important subjects. ' As for Mac- 
mind my belly very studiously and very laurin's imitation of a made dish, it was 
carefully; for I look upon it, that he who a wretched attempt.' He about the same 



442 



TAMES BOSWELL 



time was so much displeased with the per- 
formances of a nobleman's French cook, 
that he exclaimed with vehemence, ' I'd 
throw such a rascal into the river ; ' and 
he then proceeded to alarm a lady at 
whose house he was to sup, by the follow- 
ing manifesto of his skill: — 'I, madam, 
who live at a variety of good tables, am 
a much better judge of cookery, than any 
person who has a very tolerable cook, but 
lives much at home ; for his palate is 
gradually adapted to the taste of his cook ; 
whereas, madam, in trying by a wider 
range, I can more exquisitively judge.' 
When invited to dine, even with an inti- 
mate friend, he was not pleased if some- 
thing better than a plain dinner was not 
prepared for him. I have heard him say 
on such an occasion. ' This was a good 
dinner enough to be sure ; but it was not 
a dinner to ask a man to.' On the other 
hand, he was wont to express, with great 
glee, his satisfaction when he had been 
entertained quite to his mind. 

While we were left by ourselves, after 
the Dutchman had gone to bed, Dr. John- 
son talked of that studied behavior which 
many have recommended and practised. 
He disapproved of it; and said, 'I never 
considered whether I should be a grave 
man, or a merry man, but just let inclina- 
tion, for the time, have its course.' 

Next day we got to Harwich, to dinner ; 
and my passage in the packet boat to Hel- 
voetsluys being secured, and my baggage 
put on board, we dined at our inn by 
ourselves. I happened to say it would be 
terrible if he should not find a speedy op- 
portunity of returning to London, and be 
confined in so dull a place. Johnson : 
' Don't, sir, accustom yourself to use big 
words for little matters. It would not be 
terrible, though I were to be detained 



some time here.' The practice of using 
words of disproportionate magnitude, is, 
no doubt, too frequent everywhere; but, 
I think, most remarkable among the 

5 French, of which, all who have traveled 
in France must have been struck with 
innumerable instances. 

We went and looked at the church, and 
having gone into it, and walked up to the 

10 altar, Johnson, whose piety was constant 
and fervent, sent me to my knees, saying, 
' Now thit you are going to leave your 
native country, recommend yourself to 
the protection of your Creator and Re- 

15 deemer.' 

After we came out of the church, we 
stood talking for some time together, of 
Bishop Berkeley's ingenious sophistry to 
prove the non-existence of matter, and 

2° that everything in the universe is merely 
ideal. I observed that, though we are 
satisfied his doctrine is not true, it is im- 
possible to refute it, I never shall for- 
get the alacrity with which Johnson an- 

25 swered, striking his foot with _.mighty 
force against a large stone, till he re- 
bounded from it, — ■ I refute it thus.' 
* * * 

My revered friend walked down with 
3° me to the beach, where we embraced and 
parted with tenderness, and engaged to 
correspond by letters. I said, ' I hope, 
sir, you will not forget me in my ab- 
sence.' Johnson : ' Nay, sir, it is more 
35 likely you should forget me, than that I 
should forget you.' As the vessel put out 
to sea, I kept my eyes upon him for a con- 
siderable time, while he remained rolling 
his majestic frame in his usual manner; 
4° and at last I perceived him walk back into 
the town, and he disappeared. 

(1791) 

:(; H< :j: 




EDMUND BURKE (1729 -1797) 

The career of Burke belongs to the history of English politics, its memorials to English 
literature. His father was a Dublin solicitor and a Protestant ; his mother was a firm 
Catholic, and he spent a part of his school days under the tuition of a Quaker. He was 
himself brought up a Protestant, but on this as other subjects preserved a large and open 
mind. He took his bachelor's degree at Trinity College, Dublin, in 174-8, and later read 
law at the Middle Temple in London. For upwards of a decade after his removal to Eng- 
land, in 1750, his ambition pointed to literature. In 1756 he published A Vindication of 
Natural Society, an ironical imitation of Bolingbroke intended to throw ridicule upon the 
political theories of that writer. ' Burke foresaw from the first,' an English statesman of 
our own day has said, ' what, if rationalism were allowed to run its course, would be the 
really great business of the second half of his century.' The same year he printed his 
youthful essay On the Suilime and Beautiful and three years later became editor of Dods- 
ley's Annual Register. But his literary abilities soon marked him out for the public service. 
In some way, not very well understood, his financial disability was overcome, and he entered 
upon a career in Parliament, making his first speech in January, 1766. His Observations 
on the Present State of the Nation (1769) showed his gi-asp of economic detail, and his 
pamphlet, entitled. Thoughts on the Present Discontents, the following year, for the first 
time exhibited the full breadth of his political philosophy. Four years later the struggle 
with the American colonies which had been going on ever since Burke entered Parliament 
had reached the stage of threatened war. It was in the debate upon this great occasion 
that Burke's mastery of economic detail, and his broad and lucid command of principle 
were welded together by his gift of passionate exposition into the three documents of political 
philosophy which will be cherished wherever the race flourishes in whose language they were de- 
livered. The Speech on American Taxation was given in April, 1774, The Speech for Concilia- 
tion, March 22, 1775, and the Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol was issued in 1777. The other 
subjects upon which Burke distinguished himself as an orator were the Impeachment of 
Warren Hastings and the incidents of the French Revolution. His views in regard to the 
latter were such as sometimes to perplex his party and his friends and he was often almost 
solitary in his position. In spite of Goldsmith's accusation that he ' to party gave up what 
was meant for mankind,' Burke's gifts were not those of the successful politician. He re- 
tired from Parliament in 1794, having wielded great power at times, but having won no 
oflicial position of high dignity. His achievements were such as grow more lustrous with 
the passage of time. \ 



From THE SPEECH FOR CONCILIA- love of freedom is the predominating 
TION WITH THE COLONIES feature which marks and distinguishes the 

whole ; and as an ardent is always a jeal- 

These, sir, are my reasons for not en- ous affection, your colonies become sus- 
tertaining that high opinion of untried 5 picious, restive, and untractable, when- 
force, by which many gentlemen, for ever they see the least attempt to wrest 
whose sentiments in other particulars I from them by force or shuffle from them 
have great respect, seem to be so greatly by chicane, what they think the only ad- 
captivated. But there is still behind a vantage worth living for. This fierce 
third consideration concerning this ob- lo spirit of liberty is stronger in the English 
ject, which serves to determine my opin- colonies probably than in any other peo- 
ion on the sort of policy which ought to pie of the earth ; and this from a great 
be pursued in the management of variety of powerful causes ; which, to 
America, even more than its population understand the true temper of their minds, 
and its commerce, I mean its temper and i5 and the direction which this spirit takes, 
character. it will not be amiss to lay open somewhat 

In this character of the Americans, a more largely. 

443 



444 EDMUND BURKE 



First, the people of the colonies are de- Liberty might be safe, or might be en- 
scendants of Englishmen. England, sir, dangered, in twenty other particulars, 
is a nation which still I hope respects, without their being much pleased or 
and formerly adored, her freedom. The alarmed. Here they felt its pulse ; and as 
colonists emigrated from you, when this 5 they found that beat, they thought them- 
part of your character was most predomi- selves sick or sound. I do not say 
nant; and they took this bias and direc- whether they were right or wrong in ap- 
tion the moment they parted from your plying your general arguments to their 
hands. They are therefore not only de- own cause. It is not easy indeed to make 
voted to liberty, but to liberty according lo a monopoly of theorems and corollaries, 
to English ideas, and on English princi- The fact is, that they did thus apply those 
pies. Abstract liberty, like other mere general arguments; and your mode of 
abstractions, is not to be found. Liberty governing them, whether through lenity 
inheres in some sensible object; and every or indolence, through wisdom or mistake, 
nation has formed to itself some favor- 15 confirmed them in the imagination, that 
ite point, which by way of eminence be- they, as well as you, had an interest in 
comes the criterion of their happiness, these common principles. 
It happened, you know, sir, that the They were further confirmed in this 

great contests for freedom in this country pleasing error by the form of their provin- 
were from the earliest times chiefly upon 20 cial legislative assemblies. The govern- 
the question of taxing. Most of the con- ments are popular in a high degree ; some 
tests in the ancient commonwealths are merely popular;, in all, the popular 
turned primarily on the right of election representative is the most weighty ; and 
of magistrates ; or on the balance among this share of the people in their ordinary 
the several orders of the state. The 25 government never fails to inspire them 
question of money was not with them so with lofty sentiments, and with a strong 
immediate. But in England it was other- aversion from whatever tends to deprive 
wise. On this point of taxes the ablest them of their chief importance, 
pens and most eloquent tongues have been If anything were wanting to this 

exercised; the greatest spirits have acted 30 necessary operation of the form of gov- 
and suffered. In order to give the fullest ernment, religion would have given it a 
satisfaction concerning the importance of complete effect. Religion, always a prin- 
this point, it was not only necessary for ciple of energy, in this new people is no 
those who in argument defended the ex- way worn out or impaired ; and their mode 
cellence of the English constitution to in- 35 of professing it is also one main cause of 
sist on this privilege of granting money this free spirit. The people are Protes- 
as a dry point of fact, and to prove that tants ; and of that kind which is the most 
the right had been acknowledged in an- adverse to all implicit submission of mind 
cient parchments and blind usage to re- and opinion. This is a persuasion not 
side in a certain body called a House of 40 only favorable to liberty, but built upon it. 
Commons. They went much farther ; I do not think, sir, that the reason of this 
they attempted to prove, and they sue- averseness in the dissenting churches, 
ceeded, that in theory it ought to be so, from all that looks like absolute govern- 
from the particular nature of a House of ment, is so much to be sought in their re- 
Commons as an immediate representative 45 Hgious tenets as in their history. Every 
of the people, whether the old records had one knows that the Roman Catholic re- 
delivered this oracle or not. They took ligion is at least coeval with most of the 
infinite pains to inculcate, as a funda- governments where it prevails ; that it 
mental principle, that in all monarchies has generally gone hand in hand with 
the people must in effect themselves, 5o them, and received great favor and every 
mediately or immediately, possess the kind of support from authority. The 
power of granting their own money, or Church of England too was formed from 
no shadow of liberty could subsist. The her cradle under the nursing care of 
colonies draw from you, as with their life- regular government. But the dissenting 
blood, these ideas and principles. Their 55 interests have sprung up in direct oppo- 
love of liberty, as with you, fixed and at- sition to all the ordinary powers of the 
tached on this specific point of taxing, world; and could justify that opposition 



CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES 445 

only on a strong claim to natural liberty, of man. The fact is so; and these peo- 
Their very existence depended on the pie of the southern colonies are much 
powerful and unremitted assertion of that more strongly, and with a higher and 
claim. All Protestantism, even the most more stubborn spirit, attached to liberty, 
cold and passive, is a sort of dissent. 5 than those to the northward. Such were 
But the religion most prevalent in our all the ancient commonwealths; such 
northern colonies is a refinement on the were our Gothic ancestors; such in our 
principle of resistance; it is the dissi- days were the Poles; and such will be 
dence of dissent, and the Protestantism all masters of slaves who are not slaves 
of the Protestant religion. This religion, ib themselves. In such a people, the 
under a variety of denominations agree- haughtiness of domination combines with 
ing in nothing but in the communion of the spirit of freedom, fortifies it, and 
the spirit of liberty, is predominant in renders it invincible, 
most of the northern provinces, where the Permit me, sir, to add another circum- 

Church of England, notwithstanding its 15 stance in our colonies, which contributes 
legal riglits, is in reality no more than no mean part towards the growth and 
a sort of private sect, not composing most effect of this untractable spirit. I mean 
probably the tenth of the people. The their education. In no country perhaps 
colonists left England when this spirit in the world is the law so general a study, 
was high, and in the emigrants was the 20 The profession itself is numerous and 
highest of all, and even that stream of powerful; and in most provinces it takes 
foreigners, which has been constantly the lead. The greater number of the 
flowing into these colonies, has, for the deputies sent to the Congress were law- 
greatest part, been composed of dissenters yers. But all who read (and most do 
from the establishments of their several 25 read), endeavor to obtain some smattering 
countries, and have brought with them a m that science. I have been told by an 
temper and character far from alien to eminent bookseller, that in no branch of 
that of the people with whom they mixed, his business, after tracts of popular de- 
Sir, I can perceive by their manner, votion, were so many books as those on 
that some gentlemen object to the latitude 30 the law exported to the plantations. The 
of this description, because in the south- colonists have now fallen into the way 
ern colonies the Church of England forms of printing them for their own use. I 
a large body, and has a regular establish- hear that they have sold nearly as many 
ment. It is certainly true. There is, of Blackstone's Commentaries in America 
however, a circumstance attending these 35 as in England. General Gage marks out 
colonies, which, in my opinion, fully this disposition very particularly in a let- 
counterbalances this difference, and ter on your table. He states that all the 
makes the spirit of liberty still more high people in his government are lawyers, or 
and haughty than in those to the north- smatterers in law; and that in Boston 
ward. It is, that in Virginia and the 40 they have been enabled, by successful 
Carolinas they have a vast multitude of chicane, wholly to evade many parts of 
slaves. Where this is the case in any one of your capital penal constitutions, 
part of the world, those who are free are The smartness of debate will say that this 
by far the most proud and jealous of their knowledge ought to teach them more 
freedom. Freedom is to them not only 45 clearly the rights of legislature, their ob- 
an enjoyment, but a kind of rank and ligations to obedience, and the penalties 
privilege. Not seeing there, that free- of rebellion. All this is mighty well, 
dom, as in countries where it is a common But my honorable and learned friend on 
blessing, and as broad and general as the the floor, who condescends to mark what 
air, may be united with much abject toil, 50 I say for animadversion, will disdain that 
with great misery, with all the exterior ground. He has heard, as well as I, that 
of servitude, liberty looks, amongst them, when great honors and great emoluments 
like something that is more noble and do not win over this knowledge to the 
liberal. I do not mean, sir, to commend service of the state, it is a formidable ad- 
the superior morality of this sentiment, 55 versary to government. If the spirit be 
M'hich has at least as much pride as vir- not tamed and broken by these happy 
tue in it: but I cannot alter the nature methods, it is stubborn and litigious. 



446 EDMUND BURKE 



Aheunt studia in mores [studies de- Then, sir, from these six capital 

velop into habits]. This study renders sources; of descent; of form of go ve ru- 
men acute, inquisitive, dexterous, prompt ment ; of religion in the northern 
in attack, ready in defense, full of re- provinces ; of manners in the southern ; 
sources. In other countries, the people, 5 of education ; of the remoteness of situa- 
more simple, and of a less mercurial cast, tion from the first mover of government ; 
judge of an ill principle in government from all these causes a fierce spirit of 
only by an actual grievance ; here they liberty has grown up. It has grown with 
anticipate the evil, and judge of the pres- the growth of the people in your colonies, 
sure of the grievance by the badness of 10 and increased with the increase of their 
the principle. They augur misgovern- wealth ; a spirit, that unhappily meeting 
ment at a distance ; and snuff the ap- with an exercise of power in England, 
proach of tyranny in every tainted breeze. which, however lawful, is not reconcil- 
The last cause of this disobedient spirit able to any ideas of liberty, much less 
in the colonies is hardly less powerful 15 with theirs, has kindled this flame that is 
than the rest, as it is not merely moral, ready to consume us. 

but laid deep in the natural constitution I do not mean to commend either the 

of things. Three thousand miles of ocean . spirit in this excess, or the moral causes 
lie between you and them. No con- which produce it. . Perhaps a more 
trivance can prevent the effect of this dis- 20 smooth and accommodating spirit of free- 
tance in weakening government. Seas dom in them ^would be more accept- 
roll, and months pass, between the order able to us. Perhaps ideas of liberty 
and the execution ; and the want of a might be desired more reconcilable with 
speedy explanation of a single point is an arbitrary and boundless authority, 
enough to defeat a whole system. You 25 Perhaps we might wish the colonists to be 
have, indeed, ' winged ministers of ven- persuaded that their liberty is more se- 
geance,' who carry your bolts in their cure when held in trust for them by us 
pounces to the remotest verge of the sea. (as their guardians during a perpetual 
But there a power steps in, that limits the minority) than with any part of it in their 
arrogance of raging passions and furious 30 own hands. The question is, not whether 
elements, and says, ' So far shalt thou go, their spirit deserves praise or blame, but 
and no farther.' Who are you, that you what, in the name of God, shall we do 
should fret and rage, and bite the chains with it? You have before you the ob- 
of Nature? — nothing worse happens to ject, such as it is, with all its glories 
you than does to all nations who have ex- 35 with all its imperfections, on its head, 
tensive empire; and it happens in all You see the magnitude, the importance, 
the forms into which empire can be the temper, the habits, the disorders. By 
throvv^n. In large bodies, the circulation all these considerations we are strongly 
of power must be less vigorous at the urged to determine something concern- 
extremities. Nature has said it. The 40 ing it. We are called upon to fix some 
Turk cannot govern Egypt, and Arabia, rule and line for our future conduct, 
and Kurdistan, as he governs Thrace ; which may give a little stability to our 
nor has he the same dominion in Crimea politics, and prevent the return of 
and Algiers which he has at Brusa and such unhappy deliberations as the present. 
Smyrna. Despotism itself is obliged to 45 Every such return will bring the matter 
truck and huckster. The Sultan gets before us in a still more untractable 
such obedience as he can. He governs form. For, what astonishing and in- 
with a loose rein, that he may govern at credible things have we not seen already ! 
all; and the whole of the force and vigor What monsters have not been generated 
of his authority in his center is derived 5o from this unnatural contention ! Whilst 
from a prudent relaxation in all his every principle of authority and resistance 
borders. Spain, in her provinces, is per- has been pushed, upon both sides, as far 
haps not so well obeyed as you are in as it would go, there is nothing so solid 
yours. She complies too; she submits; and certain, either in reasoning or in 
she watches times. This is the immutable 55 practice, that has not been shaken. Until 
condition, the eternal law, of extensive very lately, all authority in America 
and detached empire. seemed to be nothing but an emanation 



CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES 447 

from yours. Even the popular part of of things appeared. Anarchy is found 
the colony constitution derived all its ac- tolerable. A vast province has now sub- 
tivity, and its first vital movement, from sisted, and subsisted in a considerable 
the pleasure of the crown. We thought, degree of health and vigor, for near a 
sir, that the utmost which the dis- 5 twelvemonth, without Governor, without 
contented colonists could do was to dis- public council, without judges, without 
turb authority; we never dreamt they executive magistrates. How long it will 
could of themselves supply it; knowing continue in this state, or what may rise 
in general what an operose business it is out of this unheard-of situation, how can 
to establish a government absolutely new. 10 the wisest of us conjecture? Our late ex- 
But having, for our purposes in this con- perience has taught us that many of those 
tention, resolved that none but an obedient fundamental principles formerly believed 
assembly should sit; the humors of the infallible, are either not of the importance 
people there finding all passage through they were imagined to be ; or that we have 
the legal channel stopped, with great i5 not at all adverted to some other far more 
violence broke out another way. Some important and far more powerful princi- 
provinces have tried their experiment, pies, which entirely overrule those we had 
as we have tried ours; and theirs has considered as omnipotent. I am much 
succeeded. They have formed a govern- against any further experiments, which 
ment sufficient for its purposes, without 20 tend to put to the proof any more of these 
the bustle of a revolution, or the trouble- allowed opinions, which contribute o 
some formality of an election. Evident much to the public tranquillity. In effect, 
necessity and tacit consent have done the we suffer as much at home by this loosen- 
business in an instant. So well they have ing of all ties, and this concussion of all 
done it, that Lord Dunmore — the ac- 25 established opinions, as we do abroad, 
count is among the fragments on your For, in order to prove that the Americans 
table — tells you that the new institution have no right to their liberties, we are 
is infinitely better obeyed than the an- every day endeavoring to subvert the 
cient government ever was in its most maxims which preserve the whole spirit 
fortunate periods. Obedience is what 30 of our own. To prove that the Ameri- 
makes government, and not the names by cans ought not to be free, we are obliged 
which it is called; not the name of Gov- to depreciate the value of freedom itself; 
ernor, as formerly, or Committee, as at and we never seem to gain a paltry ad- 
present. This new government has vantage over them in debate, without at- 
originated directly from the people ; and 35 tacking some of those principles, or de- 
was not transmitted through any of the riding some of those feelings, for which 
ordinary artificial media of a positive our ancestors have shed their blood. • 

constitution. It was not a manufacture But, sir, in wishing to put an end to 

ready formed, and transmitted to them in pernicious experiments, I do not mean to 
that condition from England. The evil 40 preclude the fullest inquiry. Far from it. 
arising from hence is this, that the Far from deciding on a sudden or par- 
colonists having once found the possibility tial view, I would patiently go round and 
of enjoying the advantages of order in round the subject, and survey it minutely 
the midst of a struggle for liberty, such in every possible aspect. Sir, if I were 
struggles will not henceforward seem 45 capable of engaging you to an equal at- 
so terrible to the settled and sober part of tention, I would state that, as far as I am 
mankind as they had appeared before the capable of discerning, there are but three 
trial. ways of proceeding relative to this stub- 

Pursuing the same plan of punishing by born spirit, which prevails in your 
the denial of the exercise of government 5o colonies, and disturbs your government. 
to still greater lengths, we wholly abro- These are : to change that spirit, as in- 
gated the ancient government of Massa- convenient, n5y' removing the causes ; to 
chusetts. We were confident that the prosecute it as criminal; or, to comply 
first feeling, if not the very prospect of with it as necessary. I would not be 
anarchy, would instantly enforce a com- 55 guilty of an imperfect enumeration ; I can 
plete submission. The experiment was think of but these three. Another has 
tried. A new, strange, unexpected phase indeed been started, that of giving up the 



448 EDMUND BURKE 



colonies; but it met so slight a reception, Tartars; and pouring down upon your 
that I do not think myself obliged to dwell unfortified frontiers a fierce and ir- 
a great while upon it. It is nothing but resistible cavalry, become masters of 
a little sally of anger, like the froward- your governors and your counsellors, 
ness of peevish children, who, when they 5 your collectors and comptrollers, and of 
cannot get all they would have, are re- all the slaves that adhered to them. Such 
solved to take nothing. would, and in no long time must, be the 

The first of these plans, to change the effect of attempting to forbid as a crime, 
spirit as inconvenient, by removing the and to suppress as an evil, the command 
causes, I think is the most like a system- lo and blessing of Providence, ' Increase 
atic proceeding. It is radical in its and multiply.' Such would be the happy 
principle; but it is attended with great result of an endeavor to keep, as a lair of 
difficulties, some of them little short, as I wild beasts, that earth which God, by an 
conceive, of impossibihties. This will ap- express charter, has given to the children 
pear by examining into the plans which 15 of men. Far different, and surely much 
have been proposed. wiser, has been our policy hitherto. 

As the growing population in the Hitherto we have invited our people, by 
colonies is evidently one cause of their every kind of bounty, to fixed establish- 
resistance, it was last session mentioned m.ents. We have invited the husbandman 
in both Houses, by men of weight, and re- 20 to look to authority for his title. We 
ceived not without applause, that in order have taught him piously to believe in the 
to check this evil, it would be proper for mysterious virtue of wax and parchment, 
the crown to make no further grants of We have thrown each tract of land, as it 
land. But to this scheme there are two was peopled, into districts, that the ruling 
objections. The first, that there is al- 25 power should never be wholly out of 
ready so much unsettled land in private sight. We have settled all we could ; and 
hands as to afford room for an immense we have carefully attended every settle- 
future population, although the crown not ment with government, 
only withheld its grants, but annihilated Adhering sir, as I do, to this policy, 

its soil. If this be the case, then the only ^° as well as for the reasons I have just 
effect of this avarice of desolation, this given, I think this new project of 
hoarding of a royal wilderness, would be hedging-in population to be neither pru- 
to raise the value of the possessions in the dent nor practicable. 

hands of the great private monopolists. To impoverish the colonies in general, 

without any adequate check to the grow- 35 and in particular to arrest the noble 
ing and alarming mischief of population. course of their marine enterprises, would 
' But if you stopped your grants, what be a more easy task. I freely confess it. 
would be the consequence? The people We have shown a disposition to a sys- 
would occupy without grants. They have tem of this kind ; a disposition even to 
already so occupied in many places. You ^o continue the restraint after the offence ; 
cannot station garrisons in every part of looking on ourselves as rivals to our col- 
these deserts. If you drive the people onies, and persuaded that of course we 
from one place, they will carry on their must gain all that they shall lose. Much 
annual tillage, and remove with their mischief we may certainly do. The 
flocks and herds to another. Many of the 45 power inadequate to all other things is 
people in the back settlements are already often more than sufficient for this. I do 
little attached to particular situations, not look on the direct and immediate 
Already they have topped the Appalachian power of the colonies to resist our vio- 
mountains. From thence they behold be- lence as very formidable. In this, how- 
fore them an immense plain, one vast, 50 ever, I may be mistaken. But when I 
rich, level meadow ; a square of five hun- consider that we have colonies for no pur- 
dred miles. Over this they would wander pose but to be serviceable to us, it seems 
without a possibility of restraint ; they to my poor understanding a little pre- 
would change their manners with the posterous to make them unserviceable, in 
habits of their life ; would soon forget a 55 order to keep them obedient. It is, in 
government by which they were dis- truth, nothing more than the old, and, asi 
owned; would become hordes of English I thought, exploded problem of tyranny,' 



CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES 449 

which proposes to beggar its subjects into offer of liberty, would not always be ac- 
submission. But remember, when you cepted. History furnishes few instances 
have completed your system of impover- of^jt. It is sometimes as hard to persuade 
ishment, that Nature still proceeds in her slaves to be free, ..as it is to compel free- 
ordinary course ; that discontent will in- 5 men to be slaves ; and in this auspicious 
crease with misery ; and that there are scheme we should have both these pleas- 
critical moments in the fortune of all ing tasks on our hands at once. But 
states, when they who are too weak to when we talk of enfranchisement, do 
contribute to your prosperity may be we not perceive that the American mas- 
strong enough to complete your ruin. 10 ter may enfranchise too, and arm servile 
Spoliatis arma supetsunt [Arms remain hands in defence of freedom ? A meas- 
to the despoiled], ure to which other people have had re- 

The temper and character which pre- course more than once, and not without 
\iail in our colonies, are, I am afraid, un- success, in a desperate situation of their 
alterable by any human art. We cannot, 15 affairs., 

I fear, falsify the pedigree of this fierce Sl aves a s these_un±ortunate black people 

people, and persuade them that they are areT^nd duTT as^ all men are from slavery, 
not sprung from a nation in whose veins must they not a little suspect the offer 
the blood of freedom circulates. The Ian- of freedom from that very nation which 
guage in which they would hear you tell 20 has sold them to their present masters ? 
them this tale would detect the imposition: from that nation, one of whose causes 
your speech would betray you. An Eng- oF'^^uarrel with those masters is their 
lishman is the unfittest person on earth to refusal to deal any more in that inhuman 
argue another Englishman into slavery. traffic? An offer "of freedom from Eng- 

I think it is nearly as little in our 25 land would come rather oddly, shipped to 
power to change their republican religion them in an African vessel, which is re- 
as their free descent; or to substitute the fused an entry into the ports of Virgima 
Roman Catholic, as a penalty; or the or Carolina, wtfh""a cargo of three hun- 
Church of England, as an improvement. . dfed Angola negroes. It would be curi- 
The mode of inquisition and dragooning 30 ous to see the Guinea captain attempting 
is going out of fashion in the Old World, at the same instant to publish his procla- 
and I should not confide much to their mation of liberty, and to advertise his 
efficacy in the New. The education of sale of slaves. 

the Americans is also on the same unal- But let us suppose all these moral 

terable bottom with their religion. You 35 difficulties got over. The ocean remains, 
cannot persuade them to burn their books You cannot pump this dry ; and as long 
of curious science ; to banish their lawyers as it continues in its present bed, so long 
from their courts of laws ; or to quench all the causes which weaken authority by 
the lights of their assemblies, by refusing distance will continue. ' Ye gods, an- 
to choose those persons who are best read 40 nihilate but space and time, and make 
in their privileges. It would be no less two lovers happy!' was a pious and 
impracticable to think of wholly annihilat- passionate prayer ; but just as reasonable 
ing the popular assemblies, in which as many of the serious wishes of very 
these lawyers sit. The arm)'', by which grave and solemn politicians. 
we must govern in their place, would be 45 If then, sir, it seems almost desperate 
far more chargeable to us; not quite so to think of any alternative course for 
effectual ; and perhaps, in the end, full as changing the moral causes, and not quite 
difficult to be kept in obedience. easy to remove the natural, which pro- 

With regard to the high aristocratic duce prejudices irreconcilable to the late 
spirit of Virginia and the southern colo- 5o exercise of our authority, but that the 
nies, it has been proposed, I know, to re- spirit infallibly will continue, and, con- 
duce it, by declaring a general enfran- tinning, will produce such effects as now 
chisement of their slaves. This project embarrass us ; the second mode under 
has had its advocates and panegyrists; consideration is to prosecute that spirit 
yet I never could argue myself into any 55 in its overt acts as criminal, 
opinion of it. Slaves are often much at- At this proposition I must pause a 

t&ched to their, masters, A general wild moment The thing seems a great deal 



450 EDMUND BURKE 



too big for my ideas of jurisprudence, munities, I can scarcely conceive anything 
It should seem to my way of conceiving more completely imprudent than for the 
such matters, that there is a very wide head of the empire to insist that, if any 
difference in reason and policy between privilege is pleaded against his will, or 
the mode of proceeding on the irregular 5 hjs acts, his whole authority is denied; 
conduct of scattered individuals, or even instantly to proclaim rebellion, to beat to 
of bands of men, who disturb order arms, and to put the offending provinces 
vi^ithin the state, and the civil dissensions under the ban. Will not this, sir, very 
which may, from time to time, on great soon teach the provinces to make no dis- 
questions, agitate the several communities lo tinctions on their part? Will it not teach 
which compose a great empire. It looks them that the government, against which 
to me to be narrow and pedantic to apply a claim of liberty is tantamount to high 
the ordinary ideas of criminal justice to treason, is a government to which sub- 
this great public contest. I do not know mission is equivalent to slavery? It may 
the method of drawing up an indictment 15 not always be quite convenient to impress 
against a whole people. I cannot insult dependent communities with such an idea, 
and ridicule the feelings of millions of We are indeed, in all disputes with the 

my fellow-creatures, as Sir Edward Coke colonies, by the necessity of things, the 
insulted one excellent individual (Sir judge. It is true, sir. But I confess 
Walter Raleigh) at the bar. I hope I am 20 that the character of judge in my own 
not ripe to pass sentence on the gravest cause is a thing that frightens me. In- 
public bodies, entrusted with magistracies stead of falling me with pride, I am 
of great authority and dignity, and exceedingly humbled by it. I cannot pro- 
charged with the safety of their fellow- ceed with a stern, assured, judicial con- 
citizens, upon the very same title that I 25 fidence, until I find myself in something 
am. I really think that, for wise men, more like a judicial character. I must 
this is not judicious; for sober men, not have these hesitations as long as I am 
decent; for minds tinctured with human- compelled to recollect that, in my little 
ity, not mild and merciful. reading upon such contests as these, the 

Perhaps, sir, I am mistaken in my idea 3° sense of mankind has, at least, as often 
of an empire, as distinguished from a decided against the superior as the sub- 
single state or kingdom. But my idea of ordinate power. Sir, let me add too, that 
it is this: that an empire is the aggre- the opinion of my having some abstract 
gate of many states under one common right in my favor would not put me much 
head ; whether this head be a monarch, 3^ at my ease in passing sentence, unless I 
or a presiding republic. It does, in such could be sure that there were no rights 
constitutions, frequently happen (and which, in their exercise under certain 
nothing but the dismal, cold, dead uni- circumstances, were not the most odious 
formity of servitude can prevent its of all wrongs, and the most vexatious 
happening) that the subordinate parts 4° of all injustice. Sir, these considerations 
have many local privileges and immu- have great weight with me, when I find 
nities. Between these privileges and the things so circumstanced, that I see the 
supreme common authority the line may same party at once ?. civil litigant against 
be extremely nice. Of course, disputes, me in point of right; and a culprit before 
often, too, very bitter disputes, and much 4S me, while I sit as a criminal judge on 
ill blood, will arise. But though every acts of his, whose moral quality is to be 
privilege is an exemption (in the case) decided upon the merits of that very 
from the ordinary exercise of the supreme litigation. Men are every now and then 
authority, it is no denial of it. The claim put, by the complexity of human affairs, 
of the privilege seems rather, ex vi ^^-r- 50 into strange situations; but justice is the 
mini [by the meaning of the term], to im- same, let the judge be in what situation 
ply a superior power. For to talk of the he will. 

privileges of a state, or of a person, who There is, sir, also a circumstance which 
has no superior, is hardly any better than convinces me that this mode of criminal 
speaking nonsense. Now, in such un- 55 proceeding is not (at least in the present 
fortunate quarrels among the component stage of our contest) altogether expedi- 
parts o"f a great political union of com- ent; which is nothing less than the con- 



CONCILIATION WITH THE COLONIES 451 



duct of those very persons who have please any people, you must give them the 
seemed to adopt that mode, by lately de- boon which they ask ; not what you may 
daring a rebellion in Massachusetts Bay, think better for them, but of a kind 
as they had formerly addressed to have totally different. Such an act may be a 
traitors brought hither, under an Act of 5 wise regulation, but it is no concession ; 
Henry the Eighth, for trial. For though whereas our present theme is the mode of 
rebellion is declared, it is not proceeded giving satisfaction. 

against as such; nor have any steps been Sir, I think you must perceive that I 

taken towards the apprehension or con- am resolved this day to have nothing at 
viction of any individual offender, either 10 all to do with the question of the right 
on our late or our former Address; but of taxation. Some gentlemen startle — 
modes of public coercion have been but it is true; I put it totally out of the 
adopted, and such as have much more question. It is less than nothing in my 
resemblance to a sort of qualified hos- consideration. I do not indeed wonder, 
tility toward an independent power than i5 nor will you, sir, that gentlemen of pro- 
the punishment of rebellious subjects. found learning are fond of displaying it 
All this seems rather inconsistent; but it on this profound subject. But my con- 
shows how difficult it is to apply these sideration is narrow, confined, and wholly 
juridical ideas to our present case. limited to the policy of the question. I 

In this situation, let us seriously and 20 do not examine whether the giving away 
coolly ponder. What is it we have got a man's money be a power excepted and 
by all our menaces, which have been reserved out of the general trust of 
many and ferocious? What advantage government; and how far all mankind, in 
have we derived from the penal laws we all forms of polity,' are entitled to an ex- 
have rightly passed, and which, for the 25 ercise of that right by the charter of 
time, have been severe and numerous? Nature. Or whether, on the contrary, a 
What advances have we made towards right of taxation is necessarily involved 
our object, by the sending of a force in the general principle of legislation, and 
which, by land and sea, is no contemp- inseparable from the ordinary supreme 
tible strength ? Has the disorder abated ? 30 power. These are deep questions, where 
Nothing less. When I see things in this great names militate against each other; 
situation, after such confident hopes, bold where reason is perplexed; and an appeal 
promises, and active exertions, I cannot to authorities only thickens the confusion, 
for my life avoid a suspicion that the plan For high and reverend authorities lift up 
itself is not correctly right. 35 their heads on both sides ; and there is no 

If then the removal of the causes of sure footing in the middle. This point 
this spirit of American liberty be, for the ' is the great Serbonian bog. Betwixt 
greater part, or rather entirely, imprac- Damiata and Mount Casius old. Where 
ticable ; if the ideas of criminal process armies whole have sunk.' I do not intend 
be inapplicable, or if applicable, are in 4° to be overwhelmed in that bog, though in 
the highest degree inexpedient; what way such respectable company. The question 
yet remains? No way is open but the with me is, not whether you have a right 
third and last — to comply with the to render your people miserable, but 
American spirit as necessary; or, if you whether it is not your interest to make 
please, to submit to it as a necessary evil. 45 them happy. It is not what a lawyer tells 

If we adopt this mode; if we mean to me I may do, but what humanity, reason, 
conciliate and concede; let us see of what and justice tell me I ought to do. Is a 
nature the concession ought to be: to as- politic act the worse for being a generous 
certain the nature of our concession we one? Is no concession proper, but that 
must look at their complaint. The col- 50 which is made from your want of right to 
onies complain that they have not the keep what you grant? Or does it lessen 
characteristic mark and seal of British the grace or dignity of relaxing in the 
freedom. They complain that they are exercise of an odious claim, because you 
taxed in a parliament in which they are have your evidence-room full of titles, 
not represented. If you mean to satisfy 55 and your magazines stuffed with arms to 
them at all, you must satisfy them with enforce them? What signify all those 
regard to this complaint. If you mean to titles and all those arms ? Of what avail 



452 EDMUND BURKE 



are they, when the reason of the thing My idea, therefore, without considering 

tells me that the assertion of my title is whether we yield as matter of right, or 

the loss of my suit; and that I could do grant as matter of favor, is to admit the 

nothing but wound myself by the use of people of our colonies into an interest in 

my own weapons? i the Constitution; and, by recording that 

Such is steadfastly my opinion of the admission in the journals of parliament, 

absolute necessity of keeping up the con- to give them as strong an assurance as 

cord of this empire by a unity of spirit, the nature of the thing will admit, that 

though in a diversity of operations, that, we mean for ever to adhere to that 
if I were sure the colonists had, at their lo solemn declaration of systematic indul- 

leaving this country, sealed a regular gence. 

compact of servitude; that they had Some years ago, the repeal of a Rev- 
solemnly abjured all the rights of citi- enue Act, upon its understood principle, 
zens; that they had made a vow to re- might have served to show that we in- 
nounce all ideas of liberty for them and i5 tended an unconditional abatement of the 
their posterity to all generations ; yet I exercise of a taxing power. Such a 
should hold myself obliged to conform to measure was then sufficient to remove all 
the temper I found universally prevalent suspicion, and to give perfect content, 
in my own day, and to govern two million But unfortunate events, since that time, 
of men, impatient of servitude, on the 20 may make something further necessary; 
principles of freedom. I am not deter- and not more necessary for the satisfac- 
mining a point of law ; I am restoring tion of the colonies, than for the dignity 
tranquillity; and the general character and consistency of our own future pro- 
and situation of a people must determine ceedings. 
what sort of government is fitted for them. 25 * * * 
That point nothing else can or ought to (i775) 
determine. 



EDWARD GIBBON (1737-1794) 

The greatest of English historians was born not far from London, at Putney in Surrey, 
where his father lived the easy life of a country gentleman. Gibbon ascribed the success 
of his later years to the ' golden mediocrity ' of his fortunes, which preserved him on the 
one hand from the seductions of pleasure and, on the other, from the need of earning a 
living. His childhood was sickly, his education was intermittent, and he was indulged in 
his bent for reading which soon settled to a passion for history. At an early age he had 
devoured everything in that department which was accessible in English and had begun 
to annex other languages in order that he might gratify his hunger for original documents. 
He was sent at fifteen to Magdalen College, Oxford, and has left a withering indictment of 
the neglect and incompetence which he encountered at that seat of learning. Left to himself, 
he fell under the influence of a Jesuit and was converted to Roman Catholicism ; whereupon 
his father promptly deported him to Switzerland and placed him under the care of a Calvinist 
minister at Lausanne. Through constant practice in the defense of his faith he became 
familiar with its assailable points, and soon passed to the position of scepticism which he 
permanently occupied. He mastered the French language and the French method of study 
and became deeply imbued with the French rationalistic ideas of the period. By five years 
of great diligence under able direction he laid the foundation of his superb equipment for the 
task of his life. Returning to England, he published in the French language his first book, 
Essai sur V Etude de la Litterature [Essay on the Study of Literature] (1761). To please 
his father he served for two years and a half as a captain of militia. The singleness of his 
ambition is well illustrated by his summary of these lost years : ' The discipline and evolu- 
tions of a modern battalion gave me a clearer notion of the phalanx and the legions, and 
the captain of the Hampshire grenadiers — the reader may smile — has not been useless to 
the historian of the Roman empire.' But of this and of his later career in Parliament he 
was impatient as of anything which did not contribute directly to his one ambition. From 
his early youth he had * aspired to the character of a historian,' but he remained unsettled 
as to the field he should occupy until he found himself at Rome. ' In my journal, the 
place and the moment of the conception are recorded,' he tells us in his Memoirs, ' the fif- 
teenth of October, 1764, in the close of the evening, as I sat musing in the church of the 
Zoccolanti or Franciscan friars, while they were singing vespers in the temple of Jupiter 
on the ruins of the Capitol.' Two years elapsed before he was able to set to work, twelve 
before the first volume was published in London, and another twelve before he laid down 
his pen at Lausanne. His History of the Decline and Fall had been his life, the one object 
toward which all his reading and experience were made to converge, and is the one subject 
of his Memoirs. He quietly finished his days at Lausanne, undoubtedly justified in his feeling 
that this achievement had been enough for one life. The substance of Gibbon's ' candid 
and rational inquiry into the human causes ' of the religious growth which undermined 
the civilization of the ancient world, has not remained totally unassailed by the modem 
historian ; nor is Gibbon's style perfect ; but it is safe to say that no other Englishman 
has united in an equal degree abundance and accuracy of information, sense of historical 
perspective and proportion, vigor of narrative, and splendor of style. 



F?OM THE DECLINE AND FALL OF a deep ditch of the depth of one hundred 
THE ROMAN EMPIRE feet. Against this line of fortification, 

which Phranza, an eye-witness, prolongs 
Of the triangle which composes the to the measure of six miles, the Ottomans 
figure of Constantinople, the two sides 5 directed their principal attack ; and the 
along the sea were made inaccessible to emperor, after distributing the service 
an enemy: the Propontis by nature and and command of the most perilous sta- 
the harbor by art. Between the two tions, undertook the defence of the ex- 
waters, the basis of the triangle, the land ternal wall. In the first days of the siege, 
side was protected by a double wall and lo the Greek soldiers descended into the 

453 



454 EDWARD GIBBON 



ditch, or sallied into the field; but they workmen were destroyed; and the skill of 
soon discovered that, in the proportion of an artist was admired, who bethought, 
their numbers, one christian was of more himself of preventing the danger and the 
value than twenty Turks ; and, after these accident, by pouring oil, after each explo- 
bold preludes, they were prudently con- 5 sion, into the mouth of the cannon, 
tent to maintain the rampart with their The first random shots were productive 

missile weapons. Nor should this pru- of more sound than effect; and it was by 
dence be accused of pusillanimity. The the advice of a christian that the en- 
nation was indeed pusillanimous and gineers were taught to level their aim 
base; but the last Constantine deserves 10 against the two opposite sides of the 
the name of an hero: his noble band of salient angles of a bastion. However 
volunteers was inspired with Roman vir- imperfect, the weight and repetition of 
tue; and the foreign auxiliaries supported the fire made some impression on the 
the honor of the Western chivalry. The walls; and the Turks, pushing their ap- 
incessant volleys of lances and arrows 15 proaches to the edge of the ditch, at- 
were accompanied with the smoke, the tempted to fill the enormous chasm and 
sound, and the fire of their musketry and to build a road to the assault. Innumer- 
cannon. Their small arms discharged at able fascines and hogsheads and trunks of 
the same time either five or even ten trees were heaped on each other ; and 
balls of lead of the size of a walnut ; and, 20 such was the impetuosity of the throng 
according to the closeness of the ranks that the foremost and the weakest were 
and the force of the powder, several pushed headlong down the precipice and 
breastplates and bodies were transpierced instantly buried under the accumulated 
by the same shot. But the Turkish ap- mass. To fill the ditch was the toil of 
proaches were soon sunk in trenches or zs the besiegers ; to clear away the rubbish 
covered with ruins. Each day added to was the safety of the besieged; and, after 
the science of the christians ; but their a long and bloody conflict, the web that 
inadequate stock of gunpowder was had been woven in the day was still un- 
wasted in the operations of each day raveled in the night. The next resource 
Their ordnance was not powerful either 30 of Mahomet was the practice of mines ; 
in size or number; and, if they possessed but the soil was rocky; in every attempt 
some heavy cannon, they feared to plant he was stopped and undermined by the 
them on the walls, lest the aged structure christian engineers ; nor had the art been 
should be shaken and overthrown by the yet invented of replenishing those sub- 
explosion. The same destructive secret 35 terraneous passages with gunpowder and 
had been revealed to the Moslems ; by blowing whole towers and cities into the 
whom it was employed with the superior air. A circumstance that distinguishes 
energy of zeal, riches, and despotism. the siege of Constantinople is the reunion 
The great cannon of Mahomet has been of the ancient and modern artillery, 
separately noticed ; an important and 4° The cannon were intermingled with the 
visible object in the history of the times: mechanical engines for casting stones and 
but that enormous engine was flanked by darts ; the bullet and the battering-ram 
two fellows almost of equal magnitude; were directed against the same walls; nor 
the long order of the Turkish artillery had the discovery of gunpowder super- 
was pointed against the walls ; fourteen 45 seded the use of the liquid and unextin- 
batteries thundered at once on the most guishable fire. A wooden turret of the 
accessible places; and of one of these it largest size was advanced on rollers: this 
is ambiguously expressed that it was portable magazine of ammunition and fas- 
mounted with one hundred and thirty cines was protected by a threefold cover- 
guns, or that it discharged one hundred 5o jng of bulls' hides ; incessant volleys were 
and thirty bullets. Yet, in the power and securely discharged from the loop-holes ; 
activity of the sultan, we may discern the in the front, three doors were contrived 
infancy of the new science. Under a for the alternate sally and retreat of the 
master who counted the moments, the soldiers and workmen. They ascended 
great cannon could be loaded and fired no ^^ by a staircase to the upper platform, and, 
more than seven times in one day. The as high as the level of that platform, a 
heated metal unfortunately burst ; several scaling-ladder could be raised by pulleys 



FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 455 

to form a bridge and grapple with the the greatness of the spectacle. The five 
adverse rampart. By these various arts christian ships continued to advance with 
of annoyance, some as new as they were joyful shouts, and a full press both of 
pernicious to the Greeks, the tower of St. sails and oars, against an hostile fleet of 
Romanus was at length overturned : after 5 three hundred vessels ; and the rampart, 
a severe struggle, the Turks were re- the camp, the coasts of Europe and Asia, 
pulsed from the breach and interrupted were lined with innumerable spectators, 
by darkness; but they trusted that with who anxiously awaited the event of this 
the return of light they should renew the momentous succor. At the first view 
attack with fresh vigor and decisive 10 that event could not appear doubtful : the 
success. Of this pause of action, this superiority of the Moslems was beyond 
interval of hope, each moment was im- all measure or account ; and, in a calm, 
proved by the activity of the emperor and their numbers and valor must inevitably 
Justiniani, who passed the night on the have prevailed. But their hasty and im- 
spot, and urged the labors which involved 15 perfect navy had been created, not by the 
the safety of the church and city. At genius of the people, but by the will of 
the dawn of day, the impatient sultan the sultan : in the height of their pros- 
perceived, with astonishment and grief, perity, the Turks have acknowledged that, 
that his wooden turret had been reduced if God had given them the earth, he had 
to ashes: the ditch was cleared and re- 20 left the sea to the infidels; and a series of 
stored; and the tower of St. Romanus defeats, a rapid progress of decay, has 
was again strong and entire. He de- established the truth of their modest con- 
plored the failure of his design ; and fession. Except eighteen galleys of some 
uttered a profane exclamation that the force, the rest of their fleet consisted of 
word of the thirty-seven thousand proph- 25 open boats, rudely constructed and awk- 
ets should not have compelled him to be- wardly managed, crowded with troops and 
lieve that such a work, in so short a time, destitute of cannon; and, since courage 
should have been accomplished by the in- arises in a great measure from the con- 
fidels. sciousness of strength, the bravest of the 

The generosity of the christian princes 30 Janizaries might tremble on a new ele- 
was cold and tardy; but, in the first ap- ment. In the christian squadron, five 
prehension of a siege, Constantine had stout and lofty ships were guided by skil- 
negotiated, in the isles of the Archipelago, ful pilots, and manned with the veterans 
the Morea, and Sicily, the most indispen- of Italy and Greece, long practised in the 
sable r supplies. As early as the begin- 35 arts and perils of the sea. Their weight 
ning of April, five great ships, equipped was directed to sink or scatter the weak 
for merchandise and war, would have obstacles that impeded their passage : 
sailed from the harbor of Chios, had not their artillery swept the waters ; their 
the wind blown obstinately from the liquid fire was poured on the heads of the 
north. One of these ships bore the Im- 40 adversaries who, with the design of 
perial flag; the remaining four belonged boarding, presumed to approach them; 
to the Genoese ; and they were laden with and the winds and waves are always on 
wheat and barley, with wine, oil, and the side of the ablest navigators. In this 
vegetables, and, above all, with soldiers conflict, the Imperial vessel, which had 
and mariners, for the service of the 45 been almost overpowered, was rescued by 
capital. After a tedious delay, a gentle the Genoese; but the Turks, in a distant 
breeze, and, on the second day, a strong and closer attack, were twice repulsed 
gale from the south, carried them through with considerable loss. Mahomet himself 
the Hellespont and the Propontis ; but the sat on horseback on the beach, to en- 
city was already invested by sea and land : 5° courage their valor by his voice and 
and the Turkish fleet, at the entrance of presence, by the promise of reward, and 
the Bosphorus, was stretched from shore by fear more potent than the fear of the 
to shore, in the form of a crescent, to enemy. The passions of his soul, and 
intercept, or at least to repel, these bold even the gestures of his body, seemed 
auxiliaries. The reader who has present 55 to imitate the actions of the combatants; 
to his mind the geographical picture of and, as if he had been the lord of nature, 
Constantinople, will conceive and admire he spurred his horse with a fearless and 



456 EDWARD GIBBON 

impotent effort into the sea. His loud re- etrate the secret oi the di\an ; yet the 
proaches, and the clamors of the camp, Greeks are persuad'^d that a resistance, 
urged the Ottomans to a third attack, so obstmate and surprising, had fatigued 
more fatal and bloody than the two the perseverance of Mahomet. He began 
former; and I must repeat, though I can- 5 to meditate a retreat, and the siege would 
not credit, the evidence of Phranza, who have been speedily raised, if the ambition 
affirms, from their own mouth, that they and jealousy of the second vizir had not 
lost above twelve thousand men in the opposed the perfidious advice of . Calil 
slaughter of the day. They fled in dis- Bashaw, who still maintained a secret 
order to the shores of Europe and Asia, lo correspondence with the Byzantine court, 
while the christian squadron, triumphant The reduction of the city appeared to be 
and unhurt, steered along the Bosphorus hopeless, unless a double attack could be 
and securely anchored within the chain made from the harbor as well as from 
of the harbor. In the confidence of the land ; but the harbor was inaccessible : 
victory, they boasted that the whole i5 an impenetrable chain was now defended 
Turkish power must have yielded to their by eight large ships, more than twenty of 
arms ; but the admiral, or captain bashaw, a smaller size, with several galleys and 
found some consolation for a painful sloops ; and instead of forcing this barrier, 
wound in his eye, by representing that the Turks might apprehend a naval sally 
accident as the cause of his defeat. 20 and a second encounter in the open sea. 
Baltha Ogli was a renegade of the race In this perplexity, the genius of Mahomet 
of the Bulgarian princes; his military conceived and executed a plan of a bold 
character was tainted with the unpopular and marvelous cast, of transporting by 
vice of avarice ; and, under the despotism land his lighter vessels and military stores 
of the prince or people, misfortune is a 25 from the Bosphorus into the higher part 
sufficient evidence of guilt. His rank and of the harbor. The distance is about ten 
services were annihilated by the displeas- miles; the ground is uneven, and was 
ure of Mahomet. In the royal presence, overspread with thickets ; and, as the road 
the captain bashaw was extended on the must be opened behind the suburb of 
ground by four slaves, and received one 3° Galata, their free passage or total destruc- 
hundred strokes with a golden rod; his tion must depend on the option of the 
death had been pronounced; and he Genoese. But these selfish merchants 
adored the clemency of the sultan, who were ambitious of the favor of being the 
was satisfied with the milder punishment last devoured; and the deficiency of art 
of confiscation and exile. The introduc- 35 was supplied by the strength of obedient 
tion of this supply revived the hopes of myriads. A level way was covered with 
the Greeks, and accused the supineness a broad platform of strong and solid 
of their Western allies. Amidst the des- planks ; and to render them more slippery 
erts of Anatolia and the rocks of Pales- and smooth, they were anointed with the 
tine, the millions of the crusades had 40 fat of sheep and oxen. Fourscore light 
buried themselves in a voluntary and in- galleys and brigantines of fifty and thirty 
evitable grave; but the situation of the oars were disembarked on the Bosphorus 
Imperial city was strong against her shore, arranged successively on rollers, 
enemies, and accessible to her friends ; and drawn forwards by the power of men 
and a rational and moderate armament of 45 and pulleys. Two guides or pilots were 
the maritime states might have saved the stationed at the helm and the prow of 
relics of the Roman name, and maintained each vessel : the sails were unfurled to 
a christian fortress in the heart of the the winds ; and the labor was cheered 
Ottoman empire. Yet this was the sole by song and acclamation. In the course 
and feeble attempt for the deliverance of 5° of a single night, this Turkish fleet pain- 
Constantinople ; the more distant powers fully climbed the hill, steered over the 
were insensible of its danger; and the plain, and was launched from the de- 
ambassador of Hungary, or at least of clivity into the shallow waters of the 
Huniades, resided in the Turkish camp, harbor, far above the molestation of the 
to remove the fears, and to direct the 55 deeper vessels of the Greeks. The real 
operations, of the sultan. importance of this operation was mag- 

It was difficult for the Greeks to pen- nified by the consternation and confidence 



FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 457 

which it inspired; but the notorious, un- serted the pre-eminence of their respective 
questionable fact was displayed before the service; and Justiniani and the Great 
eyes, and is recorded by the pens, of the Duke, whose ambition was not extin- 
two nations. A similar stratagem had guished by the common danger, accused 
been repeatedly practised by the an- 5 each other of treachery and cowardice, 
cients; the Ottoman galleys, I must During the siege of Constantinople, the 

again repeat, should be considered as words of peace and capitulation had been 
large boats; and, if we compare the mag- sometimes pronounced; and several em- 
nitude and the distance, the obstacles and bassies had passed between the camp and 
the means, the boasted miracle has per- 10 the city. The Greek emperor was hum- 
haps been equaled by the industry of our bled by adversity; and would have yielded 
own times. As soon as Mahomet had to any terms compatible with religion and 
occupied the upper harbor with a fleet royalty. The Turkish sultan was desirous 
and army, he constructed, in the narrow- of sparing the blood of his soldiers; still 
est part, a bridge, or rather mole, of fifty 15 more desirous of securing for his own 
cubits in breadth and one hundred in use the Byzantine treasures ; and he ac- 
length; it was formed of casks and hogs- complished a sacred duty in presenting 
heads, joined with rafters linked with to the Gahours the choice of circumcision, 
iron, and covered with a solid floor. On of tribute, or of death. The avarice of 
this floating battery he planted one of his 20 Mahomet might have been satisfied with 
largest cannon, while the fourscore an annual sum of one hundred thousand 
galleys, with troops and scaling-ladders, ducats; but his ambition grasped the 
approached the most accessible' side, capital of the East; to the prince he of- 
which had formerly been stormed by the fered a rich equivalent, to the people a 
Latin conquerors. The indolence of the 25 free toleration or a safe departure : but, 
christians has been accused for not de- after some fruitless treaty, he declared 
stroying these unfinished works ; but their his resolution of finding either a throne 
fire, by a superior fire, was controlled and or a grave under the walls of Constan- 
silenced; nor were they wanting in a tinople. A sense of honor and the fear 
nocturnal attempt to burn the vessels as 3° of universal reproach forbade Palaeologus 
well as the bridge of the sultan. His to resign the city into the hands of the 
vigilance prevented their approach ; their Ottomans ; and he determined to abide the 
foremost galliots were sunk or taken ; last extremities of war. Several days 
forty youths, the bravest of Italy and were employed by the sultan in the prep- 
Greece were inhumanly massacred at his 35 arations of the assault; and a respite 
command; nor could the emperor's grief was granted by his favorite science of 
be assuaged by the just though cruel re- astrology, which had fixed on the twenty- 
taliation of exposing from the walls the ninth of May as the fortunate and fatal 
heads of two hundred and sixty Mussul- hour. On the evening of the twenty-sev- 
man captives. After a siege of forty 40 enth, he issued his final orders ; assembled 
days, the fate of Constantinople could no in his presence the military chiefs; and 
longer be averted. The diminutive gar- dispersed his heralds through the camp 
rison was exhausted by a double attack ; to proclaim the duty and the motives of 
the fortifications, which had stood for the perilous enterprise. Fear is the first 
ages against hostile violence, were dis- 45 principle of a despotic government ; and 
mantled on all sides by the Ottoman his menaces were expressed in the Ori- 
cannon ; many breaches were opened ; and ental style, that the fugitives and desert- 
near the gate of St. Romanus four towers ers, had they the wings of a bird, should 
had been leveled with the ground. For not escape from his inexorable justice, 
the payment of his feeble and mutinous 50 The greatest part of his bashaws and 
troops, Constantine was compelled to de- Janizaries were the offspring of chris- 
spoil the churches, with the promise of a tian parents ; but the glories of the Turk- 
fourfold restitution ; and his sacrilege ish name were perpetuated by successive 
oi^'ered a new reproach to the enemies of adoption; and, in the gradual change of 
the union. A spirit of discord impaired 55 individuals, the spirit of a legion, a reg- 
the remnant of the christian strength: iment, or an oda is kept alive by imita- 
the Genoese and Venetian auxiliaries, as- tion and discipline. In this holy warfare, 



458 EDWARD GIBBON 



the Moslems were exhorted to purify pense to the heroes who fall in the serv- 
their minds with prayer, their bodies ice of their country. But the example 
with seven ablutions ; and to abstain from of their prince and the confinement of 
food till the close of the ensuing day. a siege had armed these warriors with 
A crowd of dervishes visited the tents, 5 the courage of despair ; and the pathetic 
to instil the desire of martyrdom, and scene is described by the feelings of the 
the assurance of spending an immortal historian Phranza, who was himself 
youth amidst the rivers and gardens of present at this mournful assembly. They 
paradise and in the embraces of the black- wept, they embraced; regardless of their 
eyed virgins. Yet Mahomet principally lo families and fortunes, they devoted their 
trusted to the efficacy of temporal and lives; and each commander, departing to 
visible rewards. A double pay was his station, maintained all night a vigi- 
promised to the victorious troops : ' The lant and anxious watch on the rampart, 
city and the buildings,' said Mahomet, The emperor, and some faithful compan- 
' are mine ; but I resign to your valor 15 ions, entered the dome of St. Sophia, 
the captives and the spoil, the treasures which in a few hours was to be converted 
of gold and beauty; be rich and be happy. into a mosque; and devoutly received, 
Many are the provinces of my empire: with tears and prayers, the sacrament of 
the intrepid soldier who first ascends the the holy communion. He reposed some 
walls of Constantinople shall be rewarded 20 moments in the palace, which resounded 
with the government of the fairest and with cries and lamentations ;' solicited the 
most wealthy; and my gratitude shall ac- pardon of all whom he might have in- 
cumulate his honors and fortunes above jured;- and mounted on horseback to 
the measure of his own hopes.' Such visit the guards and explore the motions 
various and potent motives diffused ^5 of the enemy. The distress and fall of 
among the Turks a general ardor, re- the last Constantine are more glorious 
gardless of life and impatient for action: than the long prosperity of the Byzantine 
the camp re-echoed with the Moslem Caesars. 

shouts of ' God is God, there is but one In the confusion of darkness an assail- 
God, and Mahomet is the apostle of 30 ant may sometimes succeed ; but, in this 
God '.; and the sea and land, from Ga- great and general attack, the military 
lata to the seven towers, were illuminated judgment and astrological knowledge of 
by the blaze of their nocturnal fires. Mahomet advised him to expect the 

Far different was the state of the morning, the memorable twenty-ninth of 
christians; who with loud and impotent 35 May, in the fourteen hundred and fifty- 
complaints, deplored the guilt, or the third year of the christian aera. The 
punishment, of their sins. The celestial preceding night had been strenuously em- 
image of the Virgin had been exposed in ployed: the troops, the cannon, and the 
solemn procession; but their divine pa- fascines were advanced to the edge of 
troness was deaf to their entreaties : they ^o the ditch, which, in many parts, pre- 
accused the obstinacy of the emperor for sented a smooth and level passage to the 
refusing a timely surrender; anticipated breach; and his fourscore galleys al- 
the horrors of their fate; and sighed for most touched, with the prows and their 
the repose and security of Turkish serv- scaling-ladders, the less defensible walls 
itude. The noblest of the Greeks, and 45 of the harbor. Under pain of death, si- 
the bravest of the allies, were summoned lence was enjoined ; but the physical 
to the palace, to prepare them, on the laws of motion and sound are not obedi- 
evening of the twenty-eighth, for the ent to discipline or fear; each individual 
duties and dangers of the general assault. might suppress his voice and measure his 
The last speech of Palseologus was the 5o footsteps ; but the march and labor of 
funeral oration of the Roman Empire: thousands must inevitably produce a 
he promised, he conjured, and he vainly strange confusion of dissonant clamors, 
attempted to infuse the hope which was which reached the ears of the watchmen 
extinguished in his own mind. In this of the towers. At daybreak, without the 
world all was comfortless and gloomy; 55 customary signal of the morning-gun, the 
and neither the gospel nor the church Turks assaulted the city by sea and land ; 
have proposed any conspicuous recom- and the similitude of a twined or twisted 



FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 459 

thread has been applied to the closeness dispelled by the final deliverance or de- 
and continuity of their line of attack, struction of the Roman empire. The 
The foremost ranks consisted of the single combats of the heroes of history 
refuse of the host, a voluntary crowd, or fable amuse our fancy and engage our 
who fought without order or command ; 5 affections : the skilful evolutions of war 
of the feebleness of age or childhood, of may inform the mind, and improve a 
peasants and vagrants, and of all who necessary though pernicious science, 
had joined the camp in the blind hope But, in the uniform and odious pictures 
of plunder and martyrdom. The com- of a general assault, all is blood, and 
mon impulse drove them onwards to the 10 horror, and confusion ; nor shall I strive, 
wall; the most audacious to climb were at the distance of three centuries and a 
instantly precipitated; and not a dart, not thousand miles, to delineate a scene of 
a bullet of the christians was idly wasted which there could be no spectators, and 
on the accumulated throng. But their of which the actors themselves were in- 
strength and ammunition were exhausted 15 capable of forming any just or adequate 
in this laborious defence; the ditch was idea. 

filled with the bodies of the slain ; they ' /The immediate loss of Constantinople 
supported the footsteps of their com- may be ascribed to the bullet, or arrow, 
panions; and of this devoted van- which pierced the gauntlet of John Jus- 
guard the death was more serviceable 20 tiniani. The sight of his blood, and the 
than the life. Under their respective exquisite pain, appalled the courage of 
bashaws and sanjaks, the troops of An- the chief, whose arms and counsel were 
atolia and Romania were successively the firmest rampart of the city. As he 
led to the charge: their progress was va- withdrew from his station in quest of 
rious and doubtful ; but, after a conflict 25 a surgeon, his flight was perceived and 
of two hours, the Greeks still maintained stopped by the indefatigable emperor, 
and improved their advantage ; and the * Your wound,' exclaimed Palseologus, ' is 
voice of the emperor v^as heard, en- slight; the danger is pressing; your pres- 
couraging his soldiers to achieve, by a ence is necessary; and whither will you 
last effort, the deliverance of their coun- 30 retire ? ' 'I will retire,' said the trem- 
try. In that fatal moment, the Janizaries bling Genoese, ' by the same road which 
arose, fresh, vigorous, and invincible. God has opened to the Turks ; ' and at 
The sultan himself on horseback, with these words he hastily passed through 
an iron mace in his hand, was the one of the breaches of the inner wall, 
spectator and judge of their valor ; he 35 By this pusillanimous act, he stained 
was surrounded by ten thousand of his the honors of a military life; and the 
domestic troops, whom he reserved for few days which he survived in Galata, 
the decisive occasion; and the tide of or the isle of Chios, were embittered by 
battle was directed and impelled by his his own and the public reproach. His 
voice and eye. His numerous ministers 40 example was imitated by the greatest 
of justice were posted behind the line, part of the Latin auxiliaries, and the 
to urge, to restrain, and to punish ; and, defence began to slacken when the at- 
if danger was in the front, shame and tack was pressed with redoubled vigor, 
inevitable death were in the rear of the The number of Ottomans was fifty, per- 
fugitives. The cries of fear and of pain 45 haps an hundred, times superior to that 
were drowned in the martial music of of the christians ; the double walls were 
drums, trumpets, and attaballs ; and ex- reduced by the cannon to an heap of 
perience has proved that the mechanical ruins ; in a circuit of several miles, some 
operation of sounds, by quickening the places must be fotmd more easy of access 
circulation of the blood and spirits, will 50 or more feebly guarded; and, if the be- 
act on the human machine more forcibly siegers could penetrate in a single point, 
than the eloquence of reason and honor, the whole city was irrecoverably lost. 
From the lines, the galleys, and the The first who deserved the sultan's re- 
bridge, the Ottom.an artillery thundered ward was Hassan, the Janizary, of 
on all sides ; and the camp and city, the 55 gigantic stature and strength. With his 
Greeks and the Turks, were involved in scimitar in one hand and his buckler in 
a cloud of smoke, which could only be the other, he ascended the outward forti- 



46o EDWARD GIBBON 



fication: of the thirty Janizaries, who quarters might prolong, some moments, 
were emulous of his valor, eighteen per- the happy ignorance of their ruin. But 
ished in the bold adventure. Hassan and in the general consternation, in the feel- 
his twelve companions had reached the ings of selfish or social anxiety, in the 
summit: the giant was precipitated from 5 tumult and thunder of the assault, a 
the rampart; he rose on one knee, and sleepless night and morning must have 
was again oppressed by a shower of darts elapsed ; nor can I believe that many 
and stones. But his success had proved Grecian ladies were awakened by the 
that the achievement was possible: the Janizaries from a sound and tranquil 
walls and towers were instantly covered w slumber. . On the assurance of the pub- 
with a swarm of Turks; and the Greeks, lie calamity, the houses and convents 
now driven from the vantage-ground, were instantly deserted; and the trem- 
were overwhelmed by increasing multi- bling inhabitants flocked together in the 
tudes. Amidst these multitudes, the em- streets, like an herd of timid animals, as 
peror, who accomplished all the duties 15 if accumulated weakness could be pro- 
of a general and a soldier, was long seen, ductive of strength, or in the vain hope 
and finally lost. The nobles who fought that amid the crowd each individual might 
round his person sustained, till their last be safe and invisible. From every part 
breath, the honorable names of Palseo- of the capital, they flowed into the church 
logus and Cantacuzene: his mournful ex- 20 of St. Sophia: in the space of an hour, 
clamation was heard, ' Cannot there be the sanctuary, the choir, the nave, the 
found a christian to cut off my head? upper and lower galleries, were filled with 
and his last fear was that of falling alive the multitudes of fathers and husbands, 
into the hands of the infidels. The of women and children, of priests, monks, 
prudent despair of Constantine cast away 25 and religious virgins : the doors were 
purple; amidst the tumult, he fell by an barred on the inside, and they sought 
unknown hand, and his body was buried protection from the sacred dome which 
under a mountain of the slain. After his they had so lately abhorred as a profane 
death, resistance and order were no more ; and polluted edifice. Their confidence 
the Greeks fled towards the city ; and 30 was founded on the prophecy of an en- 
many were pressed and stifled in the thusiast or impostor, that one day the 
narrow pass of the gate of St. Romanus. Turks would enter Constantinople, and 
The victorious Turks rushed through the pursue the Romans as far as the column 
breaches of the inner wall; and, as they of Constantine in the square before St, 
advanced into the streets, they were soon 35 Sophia ; but that this would be the term 
joined by their brethren, who had forced of their calamities; that an angel would 
the gate Phenar on the side of the har- descend from heaven, with a sword in his 
bor. In the first heat of the pursuit, hand, and would deliver the empire, with 
about two thousand christians were put that celestial weapon, to a poor man 
to the sword ; but avarice soon prevailed 40 seated at the foot of the column. ' Take 
over cruelty ; and the victors acknowl- this sword,' would he say, ' and avenge 
edged that they should immediately have the people of the Lord.' At these ani- 
given quarter, if the valor of the em- mating words, the Turks would instantly 
peror and his chosen bands had not pre- fly, and the victorious Romans would 
pared them for a similar opposition in 45 drive them from the West, and from all 
every part of the capital. It was thus, Anatolia, as far as the frontiers of Per- 
after a siege of fifty-three days, that Con- sia. It is on this occasion that Ducas, 
stantinople, which had defied the power with some fancy and much truth, up- 
of Chosroes, the Chagan, and the caliphs, braids the discord and obstinacy of the 
was irretrievably subdued by the arms 50 Greeks. ' Had that angel appeared,' ex- 
of Mahomet the Second. Her empire claims the historian, ' had he offered to 
only had been subverted by the Latins: exterminate your foes if you would con- 
her religion was trampled in the dust by sent to the union of the church, even 
the Moslem conquerors. then, in that fatal moment, you would 

The tidings of misfortune fly with a 55 have rejected your safety or have de- 
rapid wing; yet such was the extent of ceived your God.' 
Constantinople that the more distant While they expected the descent of the 



FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 461 

tardy angel, the doors were broken with with a suppliant and lamentable crowd ; 
axes ; and, as the Turks encountered no but the means of transportation were 
resistance, their bloodless hands were scanty ; the Venetians and Genoese se- 
employed in selecting and securing the lected their countrymen; and, notwith- 
multitude of their prisoners. Youth, 5 standing the fairest promises of the sul- 
beauty, and the appearance of wealth tan, the inhabitants of Galata evacuated 
attracted their choice; and the right of their houses and embarked with their 
property was decided among themselves most precious effects, 
by a prior seizure, by personal strength, In the fall and the sack of great cities, 

and by the authority of command. In 10 an historian is condemned to repeat the 
the space of an hour, the male captives tale of uniform calamity : the same ef- 
were bounds with cords, the females with fects must be produced by the same pas- 
their veils and girdles. The senators sions ; and, when those passions may be 
were linked with their slaves ; the prelates indulged without control, small, alas ! is 
with the porters of the church ; and young 15 the difference between civilised and sav- 
men of a plebeian class with noble maids, age man. Amidst the vague exclama- 
whose faces had been invisible to the sun tions of bigotry and hatred, the Turks 
and their nearest kindred. In this com- are not accused of a wanton or immoder- 
mon captivity, the ranks of society were ate effusion of christian blood; but, ac-. 
confounded; the ties of nature were cut 20 cording to their maxims (the maxims of 
asunder; and the inexorable soldier was antiquity), the lives of the vanquished 
careless of the father's groans, the tears were forfeited; and the legitimate re- 
of the mother, and the lamentations of ward of the conqueror was derived from 
the children. The loudest in their wail- the service, the sale, or the ransom, of 
ings were the nuns, who were torn from ^5 his captives of both sexes. The wealth 
the altar with naked bosoms, outstretched of Constantinople had been granted by 
hands, and disheveled hair; and we the sultan to his victorious troops; and 
should piously believe that few could the rapine of an hour is more productive 
be tempted to prefer the vigils of the than the industry of years. But, as no 
haram to those of the monastery. Of 30 regular division was attempted of the 
these unfortunate Greeks, of these do- spoil, the respective shares were not de- 
mestic animals, whole strings were rudely termined by merit; and the rewards of 
driven through the streets ; and, as the valor were stolen away by the followers 
conquerors were eager to return for more of the camp, who had declined the toil 
prey, their trembling pace was quickened 35 and the danger of the battle. The nar- 
with menaces and blows. At the same rative of their depredations could not af- 
hour, a similar rapine was exercised in ford either amusement or instruction : the 
all the churches and monasteries, in all total amount, in the last poverty of the 
the palaces and habitations of the cap- empire, has been valued at four millions 
ital; nor could any palace, however sacred 40 of ducats; and of this sum a small part 
or sequestered, protect the persons or the was the property of the Venetians, the 
property of the Greeks. Above sixty Genoese, the Florentines, and the mer- 
thousand of this devoted people were chants of Ancona. Of these foreigners, 
transported from the city to the camp and the stock was improved in quick and per- 
fleet; exchanged or sold according to the 45 petual circulation; but the riches of the 
caprice or interest of their masters, and Greeks were displayed in the idle osten- 
dispersed in remote servitude through the tation of palaces and wardrobes, or deeply 
provinces of the Ottoman empire, buried in treasures of ingots and old coin, 
* * * lest it should be demanded at their hands 

The chain and entrance of the outward 50 for the defence of their country. The 
harbor was still occupied by the Italian profanation and plunder of the monas- 
ships of merchandise and war. They teries and churches excited the most 
had signalized their valor in the siege: tragic complaints. The dome of St. So- 
they embraced the moment of retreat, phia itself, the earthly heaven, the sec- 
while the Turkish mariners were dis-ssond firmament, the vehicle of the cher- 
sipated in the pillage of the city. When ubim, the throne of the glory of God, 
they hoisted sp'I ^he beach was covered was despoiled of the oblations of ages; 



462 EDWARD GIBBON 



and the gold and silver, the pearls and wonder on the strange though splendid 
jewels, the vases and sacerdotal orna- appearance of the domes and palaces, so 
ments, were most wickedly converted to dissimilar from the style of Oriental 
the service of mankind. After the divine architecture. In the hippodrome, or 
images had been stripped of all that could 5 atmeidan, his eye was attracted by the 
be valuable to a profane eye, the canvas, twisted column of the three serpents; 
or the wood, was torn, or broken, or burnt, and, as a trial of his strength, he shat- 
or trod under foot, or applied, in the tered with his iron mace or battle-axe 
stables or the kitchen, to the vilest uses, the under-jaw of one of these monsters, 
The example of sacrilege was imitated, 10 which in the eye of the Turks were the 
however, from the Latin conquerors of idols or talismans of the city. At the 
Constantinople; and the treatment which principal door of St. Sophia, he alighted 
Christ, the Virgin, and the saints had from his horse and entered the dome; 
sustained from the guilty Catholic' and such was his jealous regard for that 
might be inflicted by the zealous Mussul- i5 monument of his glory that, on observ- 
man on the monuments of idolatry. Per- ing a zealous Mussulman in the act of 
haps, instead of joining the public clamor, breaking the marble pavement, he ad- 
a philosopher will observe that in the monished him with his scimitar that, if 
decline of the arts the workmanship the spoil and captives were granted to the 
could not be more valuable than the work, 20 soldiers, the public and private buildings 
and that a fresh supply of visions and had been reserved for the prince. By 
miracles would speedily be renewed by his command the metropolis of the East- 
the craft of the priest and the credulity ern church was transformed into a 
of the people. He will more seriously mosque: the rich and portable instru- 
deplore the loss of the Byzantine libra- 25 ments of superstition had been re- 
ries, which were destroyed or scattered moved; the crosses were thrown down; 
in the general confusion: one hundred and the walls, which were covered with 
and twenty thousand manuscripts are images and mosaics, were washed and 
said to have disappeared; ten volumes purified and restored to a state of naked 
might be purchased for a single ducat; and 30 simplicity. On the same day, or on the 
the same ignominous price, too high per- ensuing Friday, the muezin or crier as- 
haps for a shelf of theology, included cended the most lofty turret, and pro- 
the whole works of Aristotle and Homer, claimed the ezan, or public invitation, in 
the noblest productions of the science and the name of God and his prophet; the 
literature of ancient Greece. We may 35 imam preached ; and Mahomet the Sec- 
reflect with pleasure that an inestimable ond performed the namaz of prayer and 
portion of our classic treasures was thanksgiving on the great altar, where 
safely deposited in Italy; and that the the christian mysteries had so lately been 
mechanics of a German town had in- celebrated before the last of the Caesars, 
vented an art which derides the havoc 40 From St. Sophia he proceeded to the 
of time and barbarism. avigust but desolate mansion of an hun- 

From the first hour of the memorable dred successors of the great Constantine; 
twenty-ninth of May, disorder and rapine but which, in a few hours, had been strip- 
prevailed in Constantinople till the eighth ped of the pomp of royalty. A melan- 
hour of the same day ; when the sultan 45 choly reflection on the vicissitudes of 
himself passed in triumph through the human greatness forced itself on his 
gate of St. Romanus. He was attended mind; and he repeated an elegant distich 
by his vizirs, bashaws, and guards, each of Persian poetry, ' The spider has wove 
of whom (says a Byzantine historian) his web in the imperial palace; and the 
was robust as Hercules, dexterous as 5° owl hath sung her watch-song on the 
Apollo, and equal in battle to any ten towers of Afrasiab.' 
of the race of ordinary mortals. The * * * 

conqueror gazed with satisfaction and (^7^°) 

55 




OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1728-1774) 



The author of The Vicar of Wakefield was the sixth of nine children of an Irish parson 
farmer and passed most of his boyhood in the little hamlet of Lissoy, which he afterward 
idealized in 27/e Deserted Village. He was regarded as ' a stupid blockhead ' in the village 
school and when, in 1749, he succeeded in taking a degree, at Trinity College, Dublin, he 
was lowest on the list. For a number of years he showed little ability and still less in- 
clination to fit himself to practical life. Rejected for holy orders, he taught school for a 
time and, soon disgusted, tried the law with the same result. He then speut several years 
in the nominal study of medicine, in the course of which, he made the grand tour of Europe, 
setting off it is said, ' with a guinea in his pocket, one shirt to his back, and a flute iu his 
hand.' Finding his way to London, in 175G, he exi-sted for a couple of years in a mosc 
haphazard manner, as ' chemist's ' assistant, corrector of the press, struggling physician, 
usher in a school, and hack writer for the Monthly Revieiv. The culmination of this period 
arrived when he borrowed a suit of clothes to present himself for examination as a hospital 
mate, failed in the examination, and pawned the clothes. Soon after this, his literary 
successes began. It was in 17G4, that Johnson following close after a guinea with which 
he had responded to a message of distress, ' put the cork into the bottle ' for which Gold- 
smith had promptly changed the guinea, carried off the manuscript of The Vicar of Wake- 
field to a bookseller, and relieved the author from arrest. The Traveler (1704) was now 
published and The Deserted Village (1770) confirmed the reputation which this had estab- 
lished. His two plays. The Good Natured Man (17G8) and She Stoops to Conquer (1773) 
brought him five hundred pounds apiece; his History of Animated JSiatwre, for which he had 
no qualification except the ability to write, secured him eight hundred pounds ; and similar 
hack work was similarly paid ; but such was his indiscretion that he was seldom long 
out of difficulty. He had in a high measure the prodigality, not uncommon among clever 
writers, of bestowing his entire stock of wisdom on the reader and reserving none for the 
conduct of life. Yet his follies, like those of Steele, were the indexes of a liberal and 
lovable nature. When he died, at the age of forty-six, leaving debts of two thousand 
pounds, there was as much tenderness as humor in Johnson's deep ejaculation : ' Was 
ever poet so trusted? ' 



SONG 

When lovely woman stoops to folly, 
And finds too late that men betray, 

What charm can soothe her melancholy? 
What art can wash her guilt away? 

The only art her guilt to cover. 

To hide her shame from every eye, 

To give repentance to her lover. 
And wring his bosom, is — to die. 

(1766) 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

Sweet Auburn! lovelrest village of the plain; 

Where health and plenty cheered the labor- 
ing swain. 

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 

And parting summer's lingering blooms de- 
laved : 



463 



Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, s 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could 

please, 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endeared each 

scene! 
How often have I paused on every charm. 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topped the neighbor- 
ing hill. 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the 

shade. 
For talking age and whispering lovers 

made ! 
How often have I blest the coming day, 'S 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play. 
And all the village train, from labor free, 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading 

tree. 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
I The young contending as the old surveyed; 



464 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



And many a gambol frolicked o'er the 
ground, ^' 

And sleights of art and feats of strength 
went round. 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band in- 
spired ; 

The dancing pair that simply sought re- 
nown, ^S 

By holding out to tire each other down ; 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face. 

While secret laughter tittered round the 
place ; 

The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, 

The matron's glance that would those looks 
reprove : 3° 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports 
like these, 

With sweet succession, taught even toil to 
please: 

These round thy bowers their cheerful in- 
fluence shed : 

These were thy charms — but all these 
charms are fled. 
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the 
lawn, 35 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with- 
drawn ; 

Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is 
seen, 

And desolation saddens all thy green : 

One only master grasps the whole domain, 

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy 
way ; 42 

Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 

The hollow sounding bittern guards its 
nest ; 44 

Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 

And the long grass o'ertops the moldering 
wall; 

And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's 
hand, 

Far, far away thy children leave the land. 50 
111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 

Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: 

Princes and lords may flourish, or may 
fade ; 

A breath can make them, as a breath has 
made: S4 

But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 

When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 
A time there was, ere EriglalTd's" griefs 
began, 

When every rood of ground maintained its 
man*, 



For him light labor spread her wholesome 

store. 
Just gave what life required, but gave no 

more : 60 

His best companions, innocence and health; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
But times are altered; trade's unfeeling 

train 
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets 

rose, 65 

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp re- 
pose, 
And every want to opulence allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
These gentle hours that plenty bade to 

bloom. 
Those calm desires that asked but little 

room, 70 

Those healthful sports that graced the peace- 
ful scene, 
Lived in each look, and brightened all the 

green ; 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful 

hour, 75 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's 

power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined 

grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn 

grew, 80 

Remembrance wakes with all her busy 

train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to 

pain. 
In all my wanderings round this world 

of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my 

share — 84 

I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me 

down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close. 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned 

skill, 90 

Around my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; 
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns 

pursue. 
Pants to the place from whence at first she 

flew. 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 
{ Here to return — and die at home at last. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 



465 



O, blest retirement, friend to life's de- 
cline, 
Retreats from care, that never must be mine, 
How happy he who crowns in shades like 

these, 
A youth of labor with an age of ease; 10° 
Who quits a world where strong tempta- 
tions try. 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
For him no wretches, born to work and 

weep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous 

deep; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state, ^°s 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending Virtue's friend; 
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay. 
While resignation gently slopes the way; 
And, all his prospects brightening to the 
last. III 

His heaven commences ere the world be 
past! 
Sweet was the sound, when oft at even- 
ing's close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
There, as I passed with careless steps and 
slow, us 

The mingling notes came softened from be- 
low; 
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their 

young. 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
The playful children just let loose from 
school, 120 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the 

whispering wind. 
And tjie_ loud laugh that spoke the vacant 

mind ; — ■ 
These all in sweet confusion sought th,i 

shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale had 

made. 
But now the sounds of population fail, 125 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way 

tread, 
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 
All but yon widowed, solitary thing, 
That feebly bends- beside the plashy spring : 
She, wretched matron, forced in age, for 
bread, 131 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses 

spread. 
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till 
morn; 



She only left of all the harmless train, ^35 
The sad historian of the pensive plain. 
Near yonder copse, where once the garden 

smiled. 
And still where many a garden flower grow. 

wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place 

disclose. 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 141 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race. 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change 

his place; 
Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to 

prize, 147 

More skilled to raise the wretched than to 

rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant 

train ; 
He chid their wanderings but relieved their 

pain : 150 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged 

breast ; 
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer 

proud. 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims 

allowed; 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, iss 
Sat by the fire, and talked the night away, 
Wept. o'er his wounds or, tales of sorrow 

done. 
Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields 

were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man 

learned to glow. 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 
Careless their merits or their faults to 

scan 
His pity gave ere charity began. 162 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his 

pride, ^ 

And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side; 
But in his duty prompt at every call, 
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for 

all; 166 

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the 

skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
Beside the bed where parting life was 

laid, 171 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dis- 
mayed. 



466 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



The reverend champion stood. At his con- 
trol 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch 

to raise, '75 

And his last faltering accents whispered 

praise. 
At church, with meek and unaffected 

grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to 

pray. 'S° 

The service past, around the pious man. 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown to share the good 

man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares 

distrest: '86 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs were 

given. 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in 

heaven. 
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the 

storm, 190 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds 

are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the 

way. 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule. 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view; '97 
I knew'him well, and every truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to 

trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 200 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited 

glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he 

frowned. 
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 205 
The love he bore to learning was in fault; 
The village all declared how much he knew : 
'T was certain he could write, and cipher 

too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides 

presage, 

And even the story ran that he could gauge ; 

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 

For, even though vanquished, he could argue 

stilly* 212 



While words of learned length and thunder- 
ing sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder 
grew, 215 

That one small head could carry all he 
knew. 
But past is all his fame. The very spot 

Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on 
high. 

Where once the sign-post caught the pass- 
ing eye, 220 

Low lies that house where nut-brown 
draughts inspired, 

Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil re- 
tired. 

Where village statesmen talked with looks 
profound. 

And news much older than their ale went 
round. 

Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 

The parlor splendors of that festive place : 

The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded 
floor. 

The varnished clock that clicked behind the 
door ; 228 

The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 

The pictures placed for ornament and use, 

The twelve good rules, the royal game of 
goose ; 

The hearth, except when winter chilled the 
day. 

With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel 
gay; 

While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for 
show, 23s 

Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a 
row. 
Vain transitory splendors ! could not all 

Reprieve the tottering mansion from its 
fall? 

Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 

An hour's importance to the poor man's 
heart. 240 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 

To sweet oblivion of his daily care; 

No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 

No more the woodman's ballad shall pre- 
vail ; 

No more the smith his dusky brow shall 

clear, 245 

Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to 

hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be foufid 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; 

Nor the coy maid, half willing to be presl, 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE 



467 



Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 2S0 
Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud dis- 
dain. 
These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its 
play, 25s 

The soul adopts, and owns their first born 

sway ; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masque- 
rade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth ar- 
rayed — -260 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And, even while fashion's brightest arts 

decoy. 
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 
Ye friends to truth, 3'e statesmen who sur- 
vey 265 
The rich man's joy increase, the poor's de- 
cay, 
'T is yours to judge, how wide the limits 

stand 
Between a splendid and an happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted 

ore. 
And shouting Folly hails them from her 
shore ; ^yo 

Hoards even beyond the miser's wish 

abound. 
And rich men flock from all the world 

around. 
Yet count our gains! This wealth is but 

a name 
That leaves our useful products still the 

same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and 
pride 275 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended 

bounds, 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half 
their growth; 280 

His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the 

green : 
Around the world each needful product 

flies. 
For all the luxuries the world supplies; 
While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 286 
As some fair female unadorned and plain. 



Secure to please while youth confirms her 

reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress 

supplies, 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her 
eyes; 290 

But when those charms are past, for charms 

are frail. 
When time advances, and when lovers fail. 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed: 293 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise. 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; 
While, scourged by famine from the smiling 

land 
The mournful peasant leads his humble 
band, 300 

And while he sinks, without one arm to 

save, 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 
Where then, ah ! where, shall poverty re- 
side. 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 
If to some common's fenceless limits 

strayed, 305 ■ 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth 

divide. 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 
If to the city sped — what waits him there? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 310 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; 
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's, woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in bro- 
cade, 31 s 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 
Here while the proud their long-drawn 

pomps display. 
There the black gibbet glooms beside the 

way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her mid- 
night reign, 
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous 
train : 320 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing 

square. 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er an- 
noy! 

Sure these denote one universal joy! 

Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah, turn 

thine eyes 325 

Where the poor houseless shivering female 

lies. 



468 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, 
Has wept at tales of innocence clistrest ; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the 
thorn; ^^° 

Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, 
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. 
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from 

the shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
When idly first, ambitious of the town, 33S 
She left her wheel and robes of country 
brown. 
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the love- 
liest train, 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Ev.en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
At proud men's doors they ask a little 
bread ! 34o 

Ah, no! To distant climes, a dreary 
scen€, 
Where half the convex world intrudes be- 
tween. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps 

they go. 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charmed 
before ^'^^ 

The various terrors of that horrid shore; 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward 

ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day; 
Those matted woods, where birds forget to 

sing, 
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 3So 
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance 

crowned, 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death 

around ; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to 

wake 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; 

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless 

prey, ^^^ 

And savage men more murderous still than 

they; 
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the 

skies. 
Far different these from every former scene, 
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, 
The breezy covert of the warbling grove. 361 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that 
parting day, 
That called them from their native walks 

away ; 
When the Door exiles, every pleasure past. 



Hung round the bovvers, and fondly looked 

their last, 366 

And took a long farewell, and wished in 

vain 
For seats like these beyond the western 

main. 
And shuddering still to face the distant 

deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to 

weep. 370 

The good old sire, the first prepared to go 
To new found worlds, and wept for others' 

woe ; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
Fie only wished for worlds beyond the 

grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 375 
The fond companion of his helpless years. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
With louder plaints, the mother spoke her 

woes. 
And blest the cot where every pleasure 

rose, 380 

And kist her thoughtless babes with many 

a tear 
And claspt them close, in sorrow doubly 

dear. 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend re- 
lief, 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

O luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's de- 
cree, 385 
How ill exchanged are things like these for 

thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 
Diffuse their pleasure only to destroy! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness 

grown, 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own, 390 
At every draught more large and large they 

grow, 
A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part 

unsound, 
Down, down, they sink, and spread a ruin 

round. 
Even now the devastation is begun, 39S 
And half the business of destruction done; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I 

stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads 

the sail, 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400 
Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the 
strand. 



THE RETALIATION 



469 



Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
And kind connubial tenderness, are tliere ; 
And piety with wishes placed above, 405 
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest 

fame; 410 

Dear charming nymph, neglected and de- 
cried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st 

me so; 414 

Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well 1 
Farewell, and oh ! where'er thy voice be 

tried. 
On Torno's clififs, or Pambamarca's side. 
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow. 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 4^i 
Redress the rigors of the inclement clime; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of 

gain ; 
Teach him, that states of native strength 

possest, 425 

Though very poor, may still be very blest ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift 

decay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away; 
While self-dependent power can time defy. 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky, 43° 

(1770) 



From THE RETALIATION 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius 

was such. 
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too 

much; 
Who, born for the universe, narrowed his 

mind. 
And to party gave up what was meant for 

mankind : 
Though fraught with all learning, yet strain- 
ing his throat 5 
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him 

a vote ; 
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on 

refining. 
And thought of convincing, while they 

thought of dining; 



Though equal to all things, for all things 
unfit ; 

Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a 
wnt; 10 

For a patriot too cool ; for a drudge dis- 
obedient ; 

And too fond of the right to pursue the 
expedient. 

In short, 't was his fate, unemployed or in 
place, sir. 

To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a 
razor. 

^ * jk 

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who 

can, IS 

An abridgment of all that was pleasant in 

man ; 
As an actor, confest without rival to shine; 
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; 
Yet with talents like these, and an excellent 

heart. 
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art ; 
Like an ill-judging beauty his colors he 

spread, 21 

And beplastered with rouge his own natural 

red. 
On the stage he was natural, simple, afifect- 

'T was only that when he was off he was 
acting ; 

With no reason on earth to go out of his 
way, 25 

He turn'd and he varied full ten times a 
day : 

Though secure of our hearts, yet confound- 
edly sick 

If they were not his own by finessing and 
trick ; 

He cast off his friends as a huntsman his 
pack. 

For he knew when he pleased he could 
whistle them back. 30 

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed 
what came, 

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for 
fame ; 

Till his relish grown callous, almost to dis- 
ease. 

Who peppered the highest was surest to 
please. 

But let us be candid, and speak out our 
mind : 35 

If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 






(1774) 



WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800) 



The son of a chaplain of (;!coige II, Cowper was derived on both sides from illustrious 
families and it is not unnatural to ascribe to race a certain touch of gentility in all he 
did or wrote. After seven years at \A'estniinster School he was ' articled,' at eighteen, 
to a London attorney, with whom he spent three years, afterward going into residence 
in the Temple, and in 1754, he was called to the bar. His experiments in versification at 
this time, some of them addressed to his cousin Theodora, with whom he was in love, 
show few symptoms of the poetic originality which he long afterward evinced. Some of 
his early associates, loo, Warren Hastings at Westminster, Thurlow, the fellow-clerk of 
his apprentice days, and the raucous and none too moral wits of the Nonsense Club, 
seem in their several ways incongruous associate.? for the shrinking and self-searching 
pietist whom we know in his later years. Cowper was too timid for the business of a 
lawyer and, in 1703, when he was thirty-two years of age, the dread of qualifying for 
a clerkship so preyed upon his mind that he became violently insane and attempted 
suicide. When he recovered, he determined to retire from the excitements of the world 
and found a retreat at Huntington, near Cambridge, where he entered the home of the 
Reverend Unwin and his wife and was converted to Methodism. On the death of Unwin, 
in 17(J7, Cowper removed with Mrs. Unwin to Olney, and here came under the influence 
of John JS'ewton, with whom he joined in the writing of the Olneij Hymns. Newton's 
strenuous fanaticism aggravated his religious mania and, in 1773, he again became mad 
and so remained for two years. On his recovery, along with other worldly diversions, 
such as gardening, cheerful conversation and the keeping of pet hares, which were dis- 
countenanced by his spiritual comforter, Cowper began to amuse himself by writing 
verses and found increasing satisfaction in the exercise. His first volume, containing Table 
Talk and other poems, was published in 1782, The liveliness of this period was increased 
by his acquaintance with Lady Austen, a bright young widow, who suggested the subjects 
of The Task and The Diverting Ride of John Gilpin. These poems, published in 1785, 
made his reputation national. The most exacting of his tasks, the translation of Homer, 
was brought to completion in 1791. He now began to sink, for the last time, under the 
cloud of despondency, suffering almost constantly from the conviction that he was a lost 
soul. Some of the darker and more intense of his short poems, such as The Castaway, belong 
to these unhappy years and were printed after his death. Cowper had a rare and intense, 
though not a rich nature. His gift of humor appears most conspicuously in his Letters, 
which some critics have not hesitated to pronounce the best in the language. Fidelity to 
nature and religious earnestness are the prevailing characteristics of his poetry. Byron's 
phrase, 'the quiet of a loving eye,' precisely fits Cowper's manner of looking about him, 
except in his most heightened moments. 



From OLNEY HYMNS 

WALKING WITH GOD. Gen. v. 24 

Oh ! for a closer walk with God, 
A calm and heavenly frame ; 
A light to shine upon the road 
That leads me to the Lamb ! 

Where is the blessedness I knew 
When first I saw the Lord? 
Where is the soul-refreshing view 
Of Jesus and his word? 

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed I 
How sweet their memory still ! 



But they have left an aching void 
The world can never fill. 

Return, O holy Dove, return 
Sweet messenger of rest! 
I hate the sins that made thee mourn 
And drove thee from my breast. 

The dearest idol I have known, 
Wliate'er that idol be, 
Help me to tear it from thy throne, 
And worship only thee. 

So shall my walk be close with God, 
Calm and serene my frame ; 
So purer light shall mark the road 
That leads me to the Lamb. 

(1779) 



470 



THE TASK 



471 



From TABLE TALK 



Pity religion has so seldom found 

A skilful guide into poetic ground! 

The flowers would spring where'er she 

deigned to stray, 
And every Muse attend her in her way. 
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming 

friend, s 

And many a compliment politely penned; 
But, unattired in that becoming vest 
Religion weaves for her, and half un- 
dressed. 
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, 
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn. 10 
The shelves are full, all other themes are 

sped. 
Hackneyed and worn to the last flimsy 

thread : 
Satire has long since done his best, and 

cursed 
And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst; 
Fancy has sported all her powers away is 
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; 
And 't is the sad complaint, and almost true, 
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing 

new. 
'T were new indeed, to see a bard all fire, 
Touched with a coal from Heaven, assume 

the lyre 20 

And tell the world, still kindling as he 

sung. 
With more than mortal music on his tongue. 
That he, who dies below, and reigns above, 
Inspires the song, and that his name is 

Love. 

(1782) 

THE TASK, Book IV 

Hark ! 't is the twanging horn o'er yonder 

bridge, 
That with its wearisome but needful length 
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the 

moon 
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ; — • 
He comes, the herald of a noisy world, s 
With spattered boots, strapped waist, and 

frozen locks ; 
News from all nations lumbering at his 

back. 
True to his charge, the close-packed load 

behind. 
Yet careless what he brings, his one con- 
cern 
Is to conduct it to the destined inn : 10 
And, having dropt the expected bag, pass 

on. 



He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch. 
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief 
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 
To him indififerent whether grief or joy. 'S 
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
With tears, that trickled down the writer's 

cheeks 
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 
Or charged with amorous sighs of absent 

swains, 20 

Or nymphs responsive, equally afi^ect 
His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
But oh, the important budget ! ushered in 
With such heart-shaking music, who can 

say 
What are its tidings? have our troops 

awaked ? 25 

Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, 
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? 
Is India free? and does she wear her 

plumed 
And jeweled turban with a smile of peace. 
Or do we grind her still? The grand de- 
bate, 30 
The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
And the loud laugh — I long to know them 

all; 
I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, 
And give them voice and utterance once 

again. 35 

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters 

fast. 
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing 

urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on 

each, 40 

So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
* * * 

Oh, Winter, ruler of the inverted year, 
Thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes 

filled. 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy 

cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other 

snows 45 

Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped 

in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy scepter and thy throne 
A sliding car indebted to no wheels. 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 5° 
And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the 

sun 



472 



WILLIAM COWPER 



A prisoner in the yet undavvning East, 
Shortening his journey between morn and 

noon, 
And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
Down to the rosy west; but kindly still 55 
Compensating his loss with added hours 
Of social converse and insti'uctive ease, 
And gathering at short notice in one group 
The family dispersed, and fixing thought 
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
I crown the king of intimate delights, 6i 
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness. 
And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours 
Of long uninterrupted evening know. 65 
No rattling wheels stop short before these 

gates ; 
No powdered, pert proficients in the art 
Of sounding an alarm, assault these doors 
Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds 
Cough their own knell, while heedless of 

the sound 7° 

The silent circle fan themselves, and quake: 
But here the needle plies its busy task. 
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower, 
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, 
Unfolds its bosom; buds and leaves and 

sprigs 75 

And curly tendrils, gracefully disposed, 
Follow the nimble finger of the fair; 
A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that 

blow 
With most success when all besides decay. 
The poet's or historian's page, by one 80 
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 
The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet 

sounds 
The touch from many a trembling chord 

shakes out ; 
And the clear voice symphonious, yet dis- 
tinct, 
And in the charming strife triumphant still; 
Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 86 
On female industry; the threaded steel 
Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 
The volume closed, the customary rites 
Of the last meal commence: a Roman 

meal, 90 

Such as the mistress of the world once 

found 
Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble 

doors, 
And under an old oak's domestic shade. 
Enjoyed — spare feast! — a radish and an 

egg. _ _ 95 

Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull. 
Nor such as \\ith a frown forbids the play 



Of fancy, or prescribes the sound of mirth; 
Nor do we madly, like an impious world. 
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 100 
That made them an intruder on their joys, 
Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 
A jarring note ; themes of a graver tone 
Exciting oft- our gratitude and love. 
While we retrace with memory's pointing 
wand los 

That calls the past to our exact review, 
The dangers we have scaped, the broken 

snare. 
The disappointed foe, deliverance found 
Unlooked for, life preserved and peace re- 
stored. 
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love: — J'o 
Oh, evenings worthy of the gods ! exclaimed 
The Sabine bard. Oh, evenings, I reply. 
More to be prized and coveted than yours. 
As more illumined and with nobler truths, 
That I, and mine, and those we love, en- 
joy, us 

Is Winter hideous in a garb like this? 
Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 
The pent-up breath of an unsavory throng 
To thaw him into feeling, or the smart 
And snappish dialogue that flippant wits '20 
Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile? 
The self-complacent actor, when he views 
(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
The slope of faces from the floor to the 

roof, 
As if one master-spring controlled them 

all, 125 

Relaxed into an universal grin. 
Sees not a countenance there that speaks a 

joy 
Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 
Cards were superfluous here, with all the 

tricks 
That idleness has ever yet contrived 130 
To fill the void of an unfurnished brain, 
To palliate dulness and give time a shove. 
Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
Unsoiled and swift and of a silken sound. 
But the world's time is time in masquerade. 
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions 

fledged 336 

With motley plumes, and, where the peacock 

shows 
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red 
With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, 
And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 
What should be, and what was an hour-glass 

once, 142 

Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mast 



THE TASK 



473 



Well does the work of his destructive 

scythe. 
Thus decked he charms a world whom 

fashion blinds ^45 

To his true worth, most pleased when idle 

most, 
Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 
Even misses, at whose age their mothers 

wore 
The back-string and the bib, assume the 

dress 
Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school iso 
Of card-devoted time, and night by night. 
Placed at some vacant corner of the board, 
Learn every trick, and soon play all the 

game. 
But truce with censure. Roving as I rove. 
Where shall I find an end, or how pro- 
ceed? iss 
As he that travels far, oft turns aside 
To view some rugged rock, or moldering 

tower. 
Which seen delights him not; then coming 

home. 
Describes and prints it, that the world may 

know 
How far he went for what was nothing 

worth; i6o 

So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread 
With colors mixed for a far different use, 
Paint cards and dolls, and every idle thing 
That fancy finds in her excursive flights. 

Come, Evening, once again, season of 



peace. 



163 



Return, sweet Evening, and continue long! 
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 
With matron-step slow moving, while the 

night 
Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand em- 
ployed 
In letting fall the curtain of repose 17° 

On bird and beast, the other charged for 

man 
With sweet oblivion o.f the cares of day; 
Not sumptuously adorned, nor needing aid, 
Like homely-featured night, of clustering 

gems, 
A star or two just twinkling on thy brow ^75 
Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 
With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
Come, then, and thou shalt find thy votary 
calm, 181 

Or make me so. Composure is thy gift; 
And whether I devote thy gentle hours 



To books, to music, or to poet's toil. 
To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit, i8s 
Or twining silken threads round ivory reels 
When they command whom man was born 

to please, 
I slight thee not, but make thee welcome 

still. 

* * * 

How calm is my recess ! and how the frost 
Raging abroad, and the rough wind, en- 
dear 190 
The silence and the warmth enjoyed within ! 
I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
A variegated show ; the meadows green 
Though faded, and the lands, where lately 

waved 
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, i9S 
Upturned so lately by the forceful share; 
I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
With verdure not unprofitable, grazed 
By flocks fast feeding, and selecting each 
His favorite herb; while all the leafless 
groves 200 

That skirt the horizon wore a sable hue. 
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
To-morrow brings a change, a total change, 
Which even now, though silently performed 
And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 203 
Of universal nature undergoes. 
Fast falls a fleecy shower ; the downy flakes, 
Descending and with never-ceasing lapse 
Softly alighting upon all below. 
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 210 
Gladly the thickening mantle, and the green 
And tender blade, that feared the chilling 

blast. 
Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 

In such a world, so thorny, and where 

none 
Finds happiness unblighted, or if found, 215 
Without some thistly sorrow at its side. 
It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
Against the law of love, to measure lots 
With less distinguished than ourselves, that 

thus 
We may with patience bear our moderate 

ills, 220 

And sympathize with others, suffering more. 
Ill fares the traveler now, and he that stalks 
In ponderous boots beside his reeking team ; 
The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
By congregating loads adhering close 225 
To the clogged wheels, and, in its sluggish 

pace, 
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
While every breath, by respiration strong 



474 



WILLIAM COWPER 



Forced downward, is consolidated soon 230 
Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to 

bear 
The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
With half -shut eyes, and puckered checks, 

and teeth 
Presented bare against the storm, plods on; 
One hand secures his hat, save when with 

both . ^^3 

He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 
Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
Oh, happy, and, in my account, denied 
That sensibility of pain with which 
Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou ! 
Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels in- 
deed ^4' 
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpaired; 
The learned finger never need explore 
Thy vigorous pulse, and the unhealthful 

East, 
That breathes the spleen, and searches every 

bone •^"^^ 

Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 
Thy days roll on exempt from household 

care, 
Thy wagon is thy wife; and the poor beasts. 
That drag the dull companion to and fro. 
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy 

care. ^5o 

Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou ap- 

pearest, 
Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the 

great. 
With needless hurry whirled from place to 

place. 
Humane as they would seem, not always 

show. ^5* 

Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat. 
Such claim compassion in a night like this, 
And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
Warmed while it lasts, by labor, all day 

long 
They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
111 clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. 260 
The frugal housewife trembles when she 

lights 
Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing 

clear. 
But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys; 
The few small embers left she nurses well. 
And while her infant race with outspread 

hands ^^s 

And crowded knees sit cowering o'er the 

sparks. 
Retires, content to quake, so they be 

warmed. 



The man feels least, as more inured than 

she 
To winter, and the current in his veins 
More briskly moved by his severer toil; -270 
Yet he, too, finds his own distress in theirs. 
The taper soon extinguished, which I saw 
Dangled along at the cold finger's end 
Just when the day declined, and the brown 

loaf 
Lodged on the shelf, half-eaten, without 

sauce 275 

Of sav'ry cheese, or butter costlier still, 
Sleep seems their only refuge. For alas. 
Where penury is felt the thought is chained. 
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. 
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the 



care 



280 



Ingenious parsimony takes, but just 
Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, 
Skillet and old carved chest, from public 

sale. 
They live, and live without extorted alms 
From grudging hands, but other boast have 

none 285 

To soothe their honest pride that scorns to 

beg, - 
Nor comfort els.., but in their mutual love. 
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, 
For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far 
A dry but independent crust, hard-earned 290 
And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
Of knaves in office, partial in their work 
Of distribution; liberal of their aid 
To clamorous importunity in rags, 295 

But ofttimes deaf to suppliants who would 

blush 
To wear a tattered garb however coarse, 
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth ; 
These ask with painful shyness, and, re- 
fused 
Because deserving, silently retire. 3oo 

But be ye of good courage! Time itself 
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give 

increase, 
And all your numerous progen}', well 

trained. 
But helpless, in few years shall find their 

hands. 
And labor too. Meanwhile ye shall not 

want 30.S 

What, conscious of your virtues, we can 

spare. 
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may 

send. 
I mean the man, who when the distant 

poor 



THE TASK 



475 



Need help, denies them nothing but his 
name. 

But poverty with most, who whimper 
forth 310 

Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe, 
The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
For plunder; much solicitous how best 
He may compensate for a day of sloth, 31 S 
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong, 
Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's 

hedge 
Plashed neatly and secured with driven 

stakes 
Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by 

strength 
Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 320 
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil — 
An ass's burden — and when laden most 
And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. 
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
The well-stacked pile of riven logs and 
roots 325 

From his pernicious force. Nor will he 

leave 
Unwrenched the door, however well se- 
cured. 
Where chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
In unsuspecting pomp; twitched from the 

perch 
He gives the princely bird with all his 
wives 330 

To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 
And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
Nor this to feed his own. 'T were some 

excuse 
Did pity of their sufferings warp aside 
His principle, and tempt him into sin 335 
For their support, so destitute; but they 
Neglected pine at home, themselves, as more 
Exposed than others, with less scruple made 
His victims, robbed of their defenceless all. 
Cruel is all he does. 'T is quenchless thirst 
Of ruinous ebriety that prompts 341 

His every action, and imbrutes the man. 
Oh, for a law to noose the villain's neck 
Who starves his own; who persecutes the 

blood 
He gave them in his children's veins, and 
hates 345 

And wrongs the woman he has sworn to 
love. 

Pass where we may, through city, or 
through town. 
Village or hamlet of this merry land. 



Though lean and beggared, every twentieth 

pace 
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a 

whiff 350 

Of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the 

styes 
That law has licensed, as makes temperance 

reel. 
There sit involved and lost in curling clouds 
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the 

boor, 
The lackey, and the groom. The craftsman 

there 355 

Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil. 
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the 

shears, 
And he that kneads the d«ugh: all loud 

alike. 
All learned, and all drunk. The fiddle 

screams 
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wailed 
Its wasted tones and harmony unheard; 361 
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme ; while 

she. 
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate. 
Perched on the sign-post, holds with even 

hand 
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 36s 
A weight of ignorance, in that, of pride, 
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
Dire is the frequent curse and its twin sound 
The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised 
As ornamental, musical, polite, 370 

Like those which modern senators employ, 
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for 

fame. 
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds. 
Once simple, are initiated in arts 
Which some may practise with politer grace, 
But none with readier skill ! 'T is here they 
learn 37^ 

The road that leads from competence and 

peace 
To indigence and rapine; till at last 
Society, grown weary of the load, 
Shakes her encumbered lap, and casts them 

out. 3^0 

But censure profits little. Vain the attempt 
To advertise in verse a public pest, 
That, like the filth with which the peasant 

feeds 
His hungry acres, stinks and is of use. 
The excise is fattened with the rich result 
Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks, 386 
For ever dribbling out their base contents. 
Touched by the Midas finger of the state. 
Bleed gold for Ministers to sport away. 



476 



WILLIAM COWPER 



Drink and be mad then; 'tis your country 
bids! 390 

Gloriously drunk, obey the important call, 

Her cause demands the assistance of your 
throats; — 

Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 

Would I had fallen upon those happier 

days 
That poets celebrate; those golden times 395 
And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. 
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had 

hearts 
That felt their virtues. Innocence, it seems, 
From courts dismissed, found shelter in the 

groves ; - 400 

The footsteps of simplicity, impressed 
Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing), 
Then were not all effaced. Then speech 

profane 
And manners profligate were rarely found 
Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaimed. 
Vain wish ! those days were never : airy 

dreams 406 

Sat for the picture ; and the poet's hand, 
Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
Grant it: I still must envy them an age 4io 
That favored such a dream, in days like 

these 
Impossible, when virtue is so scarce 
That to suppose a scene where she presides 
Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 414 
No. We are polished now. The rural lass, 
Whom once her virgin modesty and. grace, 
Her artless manners and her neat attire. 
So dignified, that she was hardly less 
Than the fair shepherdess of old romance. 
Is seen no more. The character is lost. 420 
Her head adorned with lappets pinned aloft 
And ribbons streaming gay, superbly raised 
And magnified beyond all human size, 
Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 
For more than half the tresses it sustains; 
Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form 
111 propped upon French heels; she might be 

deemed 4^7 

(But that the basket dangling on her arm 
Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
Too proud for dairy-work, or sale of 

eggs ; 430 

Expect her soon with foot-boy at her heels, 
No longer blushing for her awkward load. 
Her train and her umbrella all her care. 

The town has tinged the country ; and the 
stain 



Appears a spot upon the vestal's robe, 43S 
The worse for what it soils. 

But slighted as it is, and by the great 
Abandoned, and, which still I more regret. 
Infected with the manners and the modes 
It knew not once, the country wins me 
still. 440 

I never framed a wish or formed a plan 
That flattered me with hopes of earthly 

bliss, 
But there I laid the scene. There early 

strayed 
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
My very dreams were rural, rural too 446 
The first-born efforts of my youthful muse. 
Sportive, and jingling her poetic bells 
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow- 
ers. 
No bard could please me but whose lyre was 
tuned 450 

To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 
Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 
Of Tityrus, assembling as he sang 
The rustic throng beneath his favorite beech. 
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms : 
New to my taste, his Paradise surpassed 456 
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
To speak its excellence; I danced for joy. 
I marveled much that, at so ripe an age 
As twice seven years, his beauties had then 
first 460 

Engaged my wonder, and admiring still, 
And still admiring, with regret supposed 
The joy half lost because not sooner found. 
Thee, too, enamored of the life I loved. 
Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 46s 

Determined, and possessing it at last 
With transports such as favored lovers feel, 
I studied, prized, and wished that I had 

known 
Ingenious Cowley: and though now, re- 
claimed 
By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 471 
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
I still revere thee, courtly though retired. 
Though stretched at ease in Chertsey's silent 

bovvers, 
Not unemployed, and finding rich amends 
For a lost world in solitude and verse.. 476 
'T is born with all. The love of Nature's 

works 
Is an ingredient in the compound, man, 
Infused at the creation of the kind. 
And though the Almighty Maker has 
throughout - 480 



MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 



477 



Discriminated each from each, by strokes 
And touches of His hand, with so much art 
Diversified, that two were never found 
Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all, 
That all discern a beauty in his works, 483 
And all can taste them: minds that have 

been formed 
And tutored, with a relish more exact, 
But none without some relish, none un- 
moved. 
It is a flame that dies not even there, 
Where nothing feeds it. Neither business, 
crowds, 490 

Nor habits of luxurious city life. 
Whatever else they smother of true worth 
In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
The villas, with which London stands be- 
girt 
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads, 
Prove it, A breath of unadulterate air, 496 
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they 

cheer 
The citizen and brace his languid frame ! 
Even in the stifling bosom of the town, 
A garden in which nothing thrives, has 
charms 500 

That soothe the rich possessor; much con- 
soled 
That here and there some sprigs of mourn- 
ful mint, 
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 
He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing 
green 50s 

Is still the liverj' she delights to wear, 
Though sickly samples of the exuberant 

whole. 
What are the casements lined with creeping 

herbs 
The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, 
The Frenchman's darling? are they not all 
proofs 511 

That man, immured in cities, still retains 
His inborn, inextinguishable thirst 
Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
By supplemental shifts, the best he may? SiS 
The most unfiirnished with the means of 

life, 
And they that never pass their brick-wall 

bounds 
To range the fields, and treat their lungs 

with air, 
Yet feel the burning instinct: over-head 
Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick 520 
And watered duly. There the pitcher stands 
A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there : 
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 



The country, with what ardor he contrives 
A peep at nature, when he can no more. 525 

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and 

ease 
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys 
And harmless pleasures, in the thronged 

abode 
Of multitudes vmknown, hail rural life! 
Address himself who will to the pursuit 53o 
Of honors, or emolument, or fame, 
I shall not add myself to such a chase. 
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
Some must be great. Great offices will have 
Great talents. And God gives to every 

man 535 

The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
Just in the niche he was ordained to fill. 
To the deliverer of an injured land 539 

He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs ; 
7^o monarchs dignity, to judges sense; 
To artists ingenuity and skill ; 
To me an unambitious mind, content 
In the low vale of life, that early felt 545 
A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 
Found here that leisure and that ease I 

wished. 

(178S) 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S 
PICTURE 

Oh, that those lips had language! Life has 

passed 
With me but roughly since I heard thee 

last. 
Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile 

I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me; 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they 

say, 5 

' Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears 

away I ' 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blessed be the art that can immortalize. 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it) here shines on me still the 

same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, though unexpected here! 
Who bidst me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long, 

1 will obey, not willingly alone, i5 
But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
And, while that face renews my filial grief, 



478 



WILLIAM COWPER 



Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
A momentary dream that thou art she. 20 
My mother! when 1 learnt that thou wast 
dead 
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I 

shed ? 
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
Wretch even then, life's journey just be- 
gun? 
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a 
kiss: ^5 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
Ah, that maternal smile! It answers — 

Yes. 
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 
1 saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 
And turning from my nursery window, drew 
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 31 
But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou 

art gone 
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
The parting word shall pass my lips no 
more! 35 

Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my con- 
cern, _ ^ 
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
What ardently I wished I long believed, 
And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 
By expectation every day beguiled, 4o 
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
I learned at last submission to my lot; 
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er for- 
got. _ 45 
Where once we dwelt our name is heard 
no more. 
Children not thine have trod my nursery 

floor; 
And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 
Drew me to school along the public way, 
Delighted with my bauble coach, and 
wrapped 5° 

In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, 
'T is now become a history little known, 
That once we called the pastoral house our 

own. 
Short-lived possession! but the record fair 
That memory keeps, of all thy kindness 
there, 55 

Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 
A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
That thou mightst know me safe and 

warmly laid ; 
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 60 



The biscuit, or confectionary plum; 

The fragrant waters on my cheek bestowed 

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and 

glowed ; 
All this, and more endearing still than all, 
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no 

fall, 65 

Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and 

brakes 
That humor interposed too often makes; 
All this still legible in memory's page. 
And still to be so to my latest age, 
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 70 
Such honors to thee as my numbers may; 
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed 

here. 
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore 

the hours, 
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued 

flowers, 75 

The violet, the pink, and jassamine, 
I pricked them into paper with a pin 
(And thou wast happier than myself the 

while, 
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head 

and smile), 
Could those few pleasant days again ap- 
pear, 80 
Might one wish bring them, would I wish 

them here? 
I would not trust my heart — the dear de- 
light 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
But no — what here we call our life is such, 
So little to be loved, and thou so much, 8s 
That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's 

coast 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean 

crossed) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle. 
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons 

smile, 91 

There sits quiescent on the floods that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below. 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers 

gay ; 95 

So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached 

the shore, 
' Where tempests never beat nor billows 

roar.' 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous 

tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 10c 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 



479 



Always from port withheld, always dis- 
tressed — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest 

tost, 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and com- 
pass lost. 
And day by day some current's thwarting 

force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous 
course. ^°5 

Yet, oh, the thought that thou art safe, and 

he! 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned and rulers of the 

earth ; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies! "i 
And now, farewell — Time unrevoked has 

run 
His wonted course, yet what I wished is 

done. 

By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 

I seem to have lived my childhood o'er 

again; I'S 

To have renewed the joys that once were 

mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine: 
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — ■ 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me 
left. 121 

(1798) 



SONNET TO MRS. UNWIN 

Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings ; 
Such aid from Heaven as some have 

feigned they drew ! 
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, 
new, 
And undebased by praise of meaner things ! 
That, ere through age or woe I shed my 
wings, 5 

I may record thy worth, with honor due, 
In verse as musical as thou art true, — 
Verse, that immortalizes whom it sings ! 
But thou hast little need : there is a book, 
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly 
light, 10 

On which the eyes of God not rarely look; 
A chronicle of actions just and bright ! 



There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, 

shine, 
And since thou own'st that praise, I spare 

thee mine; (1803) 



ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL 
GEORGE 

Toll for the brave! 

The brave that are no more! 
All sunk beneath the wave. 

Fast by their native shore ! 

Eight hundred of the brave, S 

Whose courage well was tried, 

Had made the vessel heel, 
And laid her on her side, 

A land-breeze shook the shrouds, 
And she was overset ; 'o 

Down went the Royal George, 
With all her crew complete. 

Toll for the brave ! 

Brave Kempenfelt is gone; 
His last sea-fight is fought; is 

His work of glory done. 

It was not in the battle; 

No tempest gave the shock; 
She sprang no fatal leak; 

She ran upon no rock. ^o 

His sword was in its sheath; 

His fingers held the pen. 
When Kempenfelt went down 

With twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up, 2S 

Once dreaded by our foes ! 
And mingle with our cup 

The tears that England owes. 

Her timbers yet are sound. 

And she may float again 30 

Full charged with England's thunder, 

And plough the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, 

His victories are o'er; 
And he and his eight hundred 35 

Shall plough the wave no more. 

(1803) 



GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) 

When Goldsmith sat down to sketch for all time the picture of his native village, it 
was after an absence of eighteen years and he saw it through a tinted haze of retrospect 
and soft sentimental reflection. Crabbe came to his task fresh from the hardships of 
his youth; he wrote 'with his eye on the object'; and he painted the cot 'as Truth 
will paint it and as Bards will not,' in all the reality of its hard and sordid detail. The 
Village was Aldborough, a rude fishing port on the 'frowning coast'- of Suffolk. Here 
Crabbe was born, the eldest child of a collector of salt-duties. After a scattered education 
which consisted partly in loading butter and cheese in the neighboring port, he was 
apprenticed, at fourteen, to a surgeon near Bury St. Edmunds, who employed him in 
'hoeing turnips.' After some years of study he set up as a surgeon in his native village; 
but his rewards were meager and he desired to marry. In the meantime, he had begun 
to cultivate the Muses and he resolved to try his lot in London. On the verge of starva- 
tion, he was taken up by Burke, who introduced him to his distinguished friends, aided 
tie publication of his first successful poem, The Library (1781), and induced him "to 
exchange the knife for the prayer-book. Returning to Aldborough as a curate, he became, 
shortly after, through Burke's introduction, a protege of the Duke of Rutland, and was 
never again i'n want. His literary fame, during most of his life, was based on The Village, 
which he published in 17S3 and followed with a silence of twenty-four years, broken only 
by the publication of a trifling poem, The Neiospapcr (1785). During these years he 
wrote and destroyed large quantities of verse and a treatise on botany and busied himself 
with domestic life, but was especially occupied in healing both the minds and bodies of 
the poor of his various parishes. His second period of publication, beginning with The 
Parish Register (1807), including The Borough (1810) and Tales in Verse (1812), and 
concluding with Tales of the Hall (1819), brought him into the world of . Wordsworth, 
Byron, and Scott. He outlived the second and died in the same year with the last. 

Crabbe's powerful realism has been greatly admired by the men of his own craft. He 
has, as Tennyson said, * a world of his own.' It is a far more populous world than that 
of Cowper or even of Wordsworth and it is not more unlovely than that of Burns ; but 
he brought to its interpi-etation little of the tenderness of the first, the ' internal bright- 
ness ' of the second, or the human tears and laughter of the third. We may be stunned 
or impressed by Crabbe's world, but we will never love it. 



THE VILLAGE, Book I 

The Village Life, and every care that reigns 
O'er youthful peasants and declining 

swains ; ^ 

What labor yields, and vi^hat, that labor 

past, 
Age, in its hour of languor, finds at last; 
What form the real Picture of the Poor, S 
Demand a song — the Muse can give no 
more. 
Fled are those times, when, in harmonious 
strains, 
The rustic poet praised his native plains: 
No shepherds now, in smooth alternate 

verse, 
Their country's beauty or their nymphs re- 
hearse; lo I 

480 



Yet still for these we frame the tender 
strain, 

Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, 

And shepherds' boys their amorous pains 
reveal. 

The only pains, alas ! they never feel. 
On Mincio's banks, in Caesar's bounteous 
reign, /S 

If Tityrus ^found the Golden Age again. 

Must sleepy bards the flattering dream pro- 
long, 

Mechanic echoes of the Mantuan song? 

From Truth and Nature shall we widely 
stray. 

Where Virgil, not where Fancy, leads the 

way ? 2° 

Yes, thus the Muses sing of happy swains, 

Because the Muses never knew their pains; 



THE VILLAGE 



481 



They boast their peasant's pipes; but peas- 
ants now 
Resign their pipes and plod behind the 

plough ; 
And few, amid the rural tribe, have time 25 
To number syllables, and play with rime ; 
Save honest Duck, what son of verse could 

share 
The poet's rapture and the peasant's care? 
Or the great labors of the field degrade, 
With the new peril of a poorer trade? 30 
From this chief cause these idle praises 
spring, 
That themes so easy few forbear to sing; 
For no deep thought the trifling subjects 

ask; 
To sing of shepherds is an easy task; 
The happy youth assumes the common 
strain, 35 

A nymph his mistress, and himself a swain; 
With no sad scenes he clouds his tuneful 

prayer. 

But all, to look like her, is painted fair. 

I grant indeed that fields and flocks have 

charms 39 

For him that grazes or for him that farms ; 

But when amid such pleasing scenes I 

trace 
The poor laborious natives of the place, 
And see the mid-day sun, with fervid ray. 
On their bare heads and dewy temples play; 
While some, with feebler heads, and fainter 
hearts 45 

Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their 

parts — 
Then shall I dare these real ills to hide, 
In tinsel trappings of poetic pride? 

No; cast by Fortune on a frowning coast. 
Which neither groves nor happy valleys 
boast ; so 

Where other cares than those the Muse re- 
lates. 
And other shepherds dwell with other 

mates ; 
By such examples taught, I paint the Cot, 
As Truth will paint it, and as Barda will 

not: 
Nor you, ye poor, of lettered scorn com- 
plain, 55 
To you the smoothest song is smooth in 

vain ; 
O'ercome by labor, and bowed down by time, 
Feel you the barren flattery of a rime? 
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for 

bread, 
By winding myrtles round your ruined 
shed? 60 



Can their light tales your weighty griefs 

o'erpower. 
Or glad with airy mirth the tojlsome hour? 
Lo ! where the heath, with withering brake 
grown o'er. 
Lends the light turf that warms the neigh- 
boring poor 

From thence a length of burning sand ap- 
pears, 6s 

Where the thin harvest waves its withered 
ears. 

Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, 

Reign o'er the land, and rob the blighted 
rye; 

There thistles stretch their prickly arms 
afar. 

And to the ragged infant threaten war; 70 

There poppies, nodding, mock the hope of 
toil. 

There the blue bugloss paints the sterile 
soil; 

Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, 

The slimy mallow waves her silky leaf; 

O'er the 3'-oung shoot the charlock throws a 
shade, 75 

And clasping tares cling round the sickly 
blade ; 

With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, 

And a sad splendor vainly shines around. 

So looks the nymph whom wretched arts 
adorn. 

Betrayed by man, then left for man to 
scorn ; So 

Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic 
rose. 

While her sad eyes the troubled breast dis- 
close: 

Whose outward splendor is but folly's dress. 

Exposing most when most it gilds distress. 

Here joyless roam a wild amphibious 

race, 85 

With sullen woe displayed in every face; 

Who, far from civil arts and social fly. 

And scowl at strangers with suspicious eye. 
Here too the lawless merchant of the main 

Draws from his plough the intoxicated 
swain; 90 

Want only claimed the labor of the day, 

But vice now steals his nightly rest away. 
Where are the swains, who, daily labor 
done. 

With rural games played down the setting 
sun ; 

Who struck with matchless force the bound- 
ing ball, 95 

Or made the ponderous quoit obliquely fall ; 

While some huge Ajax, terrible and strong, 



482 



GEORGE CRABBE 



Engaged some artful stripling of the throng. 

And fell beneath him, foiled, while far 
around . 

Hoarse triumph rose, and rocks returned 
the sound? \o° 

Where now are these? — Beneath yon cliff 
they stand, 

To show the freighted pinnace where to 
land ; 

To load the ready steed with guilty haste. 

To fly in terror o'er the pathless waste. 

Or, when detected, in their straggling 
course, ^°s 

To foil their foes by cunning or by force ; 

Or, yielding part (which equal knaves de- 
mand). 

To gain a lawless passport through the land. 
Here, wandering long, amid these frown- 
ing fields, 

I sought the simple life that Nature yields; 

Rapine and Wrong and Fear, usurped her 
place, '^^ 

And a bold, artful, surly, savage race; 

Who, only skilled to take the finny tribe, 

The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, 

Wait on the shore, and, as the waves run 
high, 115 

On the tossed vessel bend their eager eye. 

Which to their coast directs its vent'rous 
way ; 

Theirs or the ocean's miserable prey. 

As on their neighboring beach yon swal- 
lows stand. 

And wait for favoring winds to leave the 
land; 120 

While still for flight the ready wing is 
spread : 

So waited I the favoring hour, and fled ; 

Fled from these shores where guilt and 
famine reign, 

And cried. Ah ! hapless they who still re- 
main : 

Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, 12s 

Whose greedy waves devour the lessening 
shore ; 

Till some fierce tide, with more imperious 
sway 

Sweeps the low hut and all it holds away ; 

When the sad tenant weeps from door to 
door. 

And begs a poor protection from the poor ! 
But these are scenes where Nature's nig- 
gard hand 131 

Gave a spare portion to the famished land; 

Hers is the fault, if here mankind com- 
plain 

Of fruitless toil and labor spent in vain; 

But yet in other scenes more fair in view. 



When Plenty smiles — alas ! she smiles for 

few— ^3^ 

And those who taste not, yet behold her 

store, 
Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore — 
The wealth around them makes them doubly 

poor. 
Or will you deem them amply paid in 

healtli, 140 

Labor's fair child, that languishes with 

wealth ? 
Go, then ! and see them rising with the sun. 
Through a long course of daily toil to run ; 
See them beneath the Dog-star's raging 

heat, 
When the knees tremble and the temples 

beat; i4S 

Behold them, leaning on their scythes, look 

o'er 
The labor past, and toils to come explore; 
See them alternate suns and showers en- 
gage. 
And hoard up aches and anguish for their 

age; 
Through fens and marshy moors their steps 

pursue, ISO 

When their warm pores imbibe the evening 

dew; 
Then own that labor may as fatal be 
To these thy slaves, as thine excess to thee. 

Amid this tribe too oft a manly pride 
Strives in strong toil the fainting heart to 

hide; iS5 

There may you see the youth of slender 

frame 
Contend with weakness, weariness, and 

shame : 
Yet, urged along, and proudly loth to yield, 
He strives to join his fellows of the field; 
Till long-contending nature droops at last, 
Declining health i-ejects his poor repast, 161 
His cheerless spouse the coming danger 

sees. 
And mutual murmurs urge the slow dis- 
ease. 
Yet grant them health, 't is not for us to 

tell. 
Though the head droops not, that the heart 

is well; 165 

Or will you praise that homely, healthy fare. 
Plenteous and plain, that happy peasants 

share ! 
Oh ! trifle not with wants you cannot feel, 
Nor mock the misery of a stinted meal ; 
Homely, not wholesome, plain, not plenteous, 

such 170 

As you who praise, would never deign to 

toiTch. 



THE VILLAGE 



483 



Ye gentle souls, who dream of rural ease, 
Whom the smooth stream and smoother 

sonnet please ; 
Go! if the peaceful cot your praises share, 
Go look within, and ask if peace be there ; 
If peace be his, that drooping weary sire; 
Or theirs, that offspring round their feeble 

fire;, ^^^ 

Or hers, that matron pale, whose trembling 

hand 
Turns on the wretched hearth the expiring 

brand. 179 

Nor yet can Time itself obtain for these 
Life's latest comforts, due respect and ease; 
For yonder see that hoary swain, whose age 
Can with no cares except its own engage ; 
Who, propped on that rude staff, looks up 

to see 
The bare arms broken from the withering 

tree, 185 

On which, a boy, he climbed the loftiest 

bough. 
Then his first joy, but his sad emblem now. 
He once was chief in all the rustic trade ; 
His steady hand the straightest furrow 

made; 
Full many a prize he won, and still is proud 
To find the triumphs of his youth allowed ; 
A transient pleasure sparkles in his eyes, 192 
He hears and smiles, then thinks again and 

sighs : 
For now he journeys to his grave in pain ; 
The rich disdain him; nay, the poor disdain: 
Alternate masters now their slave command, 
Urge the weak efforts of his feeble hand. 
And, when his age attempts its task in vain. 
With ruthless taunts, of lazy poor complain. 
Oft may you see him, when he tends the 

sheep, 200 

His winter charge, beneath the hillock weep ; 
Oft hear him murmur to the winds that 

blow 
O'er his white locks and bury them in snow, 
When, roused by rage and muttering in the 

morn, 

He mends the broken edge with icy thorn : — 

' Why do I live, when I desire to be 206 

At once from life and life's long labor free? 

Like leaves in spring, the young are blown 

away. 
Without the sorrows of a slow decay; 
I, like yon withered leaf, remain behind, 210 
Nipped by the frost, and shivering in the 

wind; 
There it abides till younger buds come on 
As I, now all my fellow-swains are gone ; 
Then from the rising generation thrust, 
It falls, like me, unnoticed to the dust. 215 



'These fruitful fields, these numerous 

flocks I see. 
Are others' gain, but killing cares to me; 
To me the children of my youth are lords, 
Cool in their looks, but hasty in their words : 
Wants of their own demand their care; and 

who 220 

Feels his own want and succors others too? 
A lonely, wretched man, in pain I go. 
None need my help, and none relieve my 

woe; 
Then let my bones beneath the turf be laid, 
And men forget the wretch they would not 

aid.' 223 

Thus groan the old, till by disease op- 
pressed, 
They taste a final woe, and then they rest. 
Theirs is yon House that holds the parish 

poor. 
Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken 

door ; 
There, where the putrid vapors, flagging, 

play, 2ZO 

And the dull wheel hums doleful through 

the day; 
There children dwell who know no parents' 

care; 
Parents, who know no children's love, dwell 

there ! 
Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed. 
Forsaken wives, and mothers never wed ; 
Dejected widows with unheeded tears, 236 
And crippled age with more than childhood 

fears; 
The lame, the blind, and, far the happiest 

they ! 
The moping idiot, and the madman gay. 

Here too the sick their final doom receive, 
Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to 

grieve, 241 

Where the loud groans from some sad 

chamber flow. 
Mixed with the clamors of the crowd be- 
low; 
Here, sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow 

scan. 
And the cold charities of man to man : 245 
Whose laws indeed for ruined age provide. 
And strong compulsion plucks the scrap 

from pride; 
But still that scrap is bought with many a 

sigh. 
And pride embitters what it can't deny. 

Say, ye, oppressed by some fantastic woes, 
Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose ; 
Who press the downy couch, while slaves 

advance ^52 

With timid eye to read the distant glance; 



484 



GEORGE CRABBE 



Who with sad prayers the weary doctor 

tease, 
To name the nameless ever new disease; 255 
Who with mock patience dire complaints 

endure, 
Which real pain and that alone can cure; 
How would ye bear in real pain to lie, 
Despised, neglected, left alone to die? 
How would ye bear to draw your latest 

breath ^60 

Where all that 's wretched paves the way for 

death? 
Such is that room which one rude beam 

divides, 
And naked rafters form the sloping sides; 
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch 

are seen. 
And lath and mud are all that lie between; 
Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patched, 



gives way 



266 



To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day: 
Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'er- 

spread. 
The drooping wretch reclines his languid 

head; 
For him no hand the cordial cup applies, 270 
Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes; 
No friends with soft discourse his pain be- 
guile. 
Or promise hope, till sickness wears a smile. 
But soon a loud and hasty summons calls. 
Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the 

walls; 275 

Anon, a figure enters, quaintly neat. 
All pride and business, bustle and conceit; 
With looks unaltered by these scenes of 

woe. 
With speed that, entering, speaks his haste 

to go. 
He bids the gazing throng around him fly, 
And carries fate and physic in his eye: 281 
A potent quack, long versed in human ills, 
Who first insults the victim whom he kills ; 
Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy Bench 

protect, 284 

And whose most tender mercy is neglect. 
Paid by the parish for attendance here. 
He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer; 
In haste he seeks the bed where Misery 

lies, 
Impatience marked in his averted eyes; 
And, some habitual queries hurried o'er, 290 
Without reply, he rushes on the door: 
His drooping patient, long inured to pain, 
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance 

vain ; 
He ceases now the feeble help to crave 
Of man; and silent sinks into the grave. 29s 



But ere his death some pious doubts arise. 
Some simple fears, which ' bold bad ' men 

despise ; 
Fain would he ask the parish priest to prove 
His title certain to the joys above: 
For this he sends the murmuring nurse, who 

calls 300 

The holy stranger to these dismal walls : 
And doth not he, the pious man, appear, 
He, ' passing rich, with forty pounds a 

year ? ' 
Ah ! no ; a shepherd of a different stock : 
And far unlike him, feeds this little flock: 
A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task 
As much as God or man can fairly ask ; 307 
The rest he gives to loves and labors light, 
To fields the morning, and to feasts the 

night ; 
None better skilled the noisy pack to guide, 
To urge their chase, to cheer them or to 

chide; 3ii 

A sportsman keen, he shoots through half 

the day. 
And, skilled at whist, devotes the night to 

play : 
Then, while such honors bloom around his 

head. 
Shall he sit sadly by the sick man's bed, 3^5 
To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal 
To combat fears that e'en the pious feel? 

Now to the church behold the mourners 
come. 

Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb; 

The village children now their games sus- 
pend, 320 

To see the bier that bears their ancient 
friend : 

For he was one in all their idle sport. 

And like a monarch ruled their little court ; 

The pliant bow he formed, the flying ball. 

The bat, the wicket, were his labors all; 325 

Him now they follow to his grave, and 
stand. 

Silent and sad, and gazing hand in hand; 

While bending low, their eager eyes explore 

The mingled relics of the parish poor. 

The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies 
round, 330 

Fear marks the flight and magnifies the 
sound. 

The busy priest, detained by weightier care, 

Defers his duty till the day of prayer; 

And, waiting long, the crowd retire dis- 
tressed. 

To think a poor man's bones should lie un- 
blessed. 335 

(1783) 



WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827) 

* I walked the other evening to the end of the heath and touched the sky with my finger.' 
Was the man inspired or mad who made this statement in fierce literalness, when bored 
by some scientific cant about 'the vastness of space'? One's answer to this question will 
determine one's attitude toward Blake. I'he ordinary biographical summary hardly seems 
to apply to him ; yet undeniably, like the hero in the old song, ' This man was born, lived, 
drank, and died.' He was born in London, he spent his life there, he did not drink much and 
frequently had none too much to eat and wear, and in London he died, ' leaving the delusive 
Goddess Nature to her laws, to get Into freedom from all law of the numbers, into the mind, 
in which every one is king and priest in his own house.' Yet this man who denied the 
validity of positive science and repudiated the reality of physical nature was a twofold 
artist, draughtsman and poet. After the bare rudiments of an education, he began at ten 
the study of drawing and almost as early the writing of verses. At the age of fourteen he 
was apprenticed to the well-known engraver, Basire. About the same time he wrote some 
of his published poems. He first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1780, and three years 
later brought out his first volume. Poetical Sketches, the only one of his publications which 
was printed in the ordinary manner. Songs of Innocence (1789), Songs of Experience 
(1794), and the series of enormous, crazed, difiicult, or unintelligible Prophetic Books were 
all engraved upon plates and embellished with designs by himself. Other published designs 
and engravings of importance were those for Young's Night Thoughts (1797), Hayley's 
Life of Cowper (1803), Blair's The Grave (1808), the Book of Job (1825), and Dante 
X 1824^27). 

None of his accomplishments, whether in literature or design, brought him any considerable 
return in money or immediate fame. He lived most of his life in almost squalid poverty 
which he did not seem to mind and, when he had means, bestowed them with unstinted 
charity and without concern for the future. His conduct was fairly within the law of 
conventional society and government ; his doctrines were revolutionary and extreme even 
for the age of revolution in which he lived. With all their wildness they are sometimes 
startlingly modern, and it is not unlikely that the world is yet to ring with some of his 
ideas. As a workman in lines he was strangely original and powerful, and has been com- 
pared with the greatest artists of design that ever lived ; though often crudely careless or 
perverse he could draw with propriety and beauty when he chose, and with tremendous 
energy and suggestiveness. It would be hard to conceive of finer illustrations than his 
' Winter ' and ' Evening ' for Cowper's Task. His poetry speaks for itself. Like his design 
it is often absurdly crude and at other times his speech is something more than mortal. 

* When the stars threw down their spears ' — 

We happen upon a line like this and we seem to have heard a voice of other worlds. 



TO SPRING 

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down 
Through the clear windows of the morning, 

turn 
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, 
Whith in full choir hails thy approach, O 

Spring ! 

The hills tell each other, and the listening s 
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are 

turned 
Up to thy bright pavilions : issue forth. 
And let thy holy feet visit our clime. 



485 



Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our 

winds 
Kiss thy perfumed garments ; let us taste 10 
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy 

pearls 
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for 

thee. 

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; 

pour 
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put 14 
Thy golden crown upon her languished head. 
Whose modest tresses were bound up for 

thee. (1783) 



486 



WILLIAM BLAKE 



TO THE MUSES • 

Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
Or in the chambers of the East, 

The chambers of the sun, that now 
From ancient melody have ceased ; 

Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, 5 

Or the green corners of the earth, 

Or the bkie regions of the air 
Where the melodious winds have birth ; 

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, 

Beneath the bosom of the sea 1° 

Wandernig in many a coral grove. 
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ! 

How have you left the ancient love 
That bards of old enjoyed in you ! 

The languid strings do scarcely move! JS 
The sound is forced, the notes are few ! 



(1783) 



MAD SONG 



The wild winds weep. 

And the night is a-cold ; 

Come hither. Sleep ; 

And my griefs enfold ! . . . 

But lo ! the morning peeps 

Over the eastern steeps. 

And the rustling [birds] of dawn 

The earth do scorn. 

Lo! to the vault 
Of paved heaven. 
With sorrow fraught. 
My notes are driven : 
They strike the ear of night, 
Make weep the eyes of day ; 
They make mad the roaring winds. 
And with tempests play. 



15 



Like a fiend in a cloud, 

With howling woe 

After night I do crowd 

And with night will go; 20 

I turn my back to the east 

From whence comforts have increased ; 

For light doth seize my brain 

With frantic pain. 

(1783) 

THE PIPER 

Piping down the valleys wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee. 

On a cloud I saw a child. 
And he laughing said to me : 



' Pipe a song about a Lamb ! ' 5 

So I piped with merry cheer. 

' Piper, pipe that song again ; ' 
So I piped: he wept to hear. 

' Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; 

Sing thy songs of happy cheer : ' 10 
So I sang the same again. 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

* Piper, sit thee down and write 
In a book, that all may read.' 

So he vanished from my sight, 'S 

And I plucked a hollow reed, 

And I made a rural pen. 

And I stained the water clear, 

And I wrote my happy songs 
Every child may joy to hear. 20 

(1789) 



THE SHEPHERD 

How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot ! 

From the morn to the evening he strays ; 
He shall follow his sheep all the day. 

And his tongue shall be filled with praise. 

For he hears the lamb's innocent call, S 
And he hears the ewe's tender reply ; 

He is watchful while they are in peace. 
For they know when their shepherd is nigh. 

(1789) 



THE LITTLE BLACK BOY 

My mother bore me in the southern wild. 
And I am black, but O my soul is white; 

White as an angel is the English child, 
But I am black, as if bereaved of light. 

My mother taught me underneath a tree, s 
And, sitting down before the heat of day. 

She took me on her lap and kissed me, 
And, pointing to the east, began to say : 

' Look on the rising sun, — there God does 

live. 

And gives his light, and gives his heat 

away; 'o 

And flowers and trees and beasts and men 

receive 

Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. 

'And we are put on earth a little space. 
That we may learn to bear the beams oi 
love ; 



CRADLE SONG 



487 



And these black bodies and this sunburnt 
face ' 5 

Is but a cloud, and like a shady grove. 

' For when our souls have learned the heat 
to bear, 
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear his 
voice, 
Saying : " Come out from the grove, my 
love and care, 
And round my golden tent like lambs re- 
joice." ' 20 

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me ; 
And thus I say to little English boy. 
When I from black, and he from white cloud 
free, 
And round the tent of God like lambs 
we joy, 

I '11 shade him from the heat, till he can 

bear . 25 

To lean in joy upon our father's knee ; 

And then I 'II stand and stroke his silver 

hair, 

And be like him, and he will then love me. 

(1789) 



CRADLE SONG 

FROM SONGS OF INNOCENCE 

Sweet dreams, form a shade 
O'er my lovely infant's head; 
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams 
By happy, silent, moony beams. 

Sweet sleep, with soft down S 

Weave thy brows an infant crown. 
Sweet sleep. Angel mild. 
Hover o'er my happy child. 

Sweet smiles, in the night 

Hover over my delight; 10 

Sweet smiles, mother's smiles. 

All the livelong night beguiles. 

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, 
Chase not slumber from thy eyes. 
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles, iS 

All the dovelike moans beguiles. 

Sleep, sleep, happy child, 

All creation slept and smil'd; 

Sleep, sleep, happy sleep, 

While o'er thee thy mother weep. 20 

Sweet babe, in thy face 
Holy image I can trace. 



Sweet babe, once like thee. 

Thy Maker lay and wept for me. 

Wept for me, for thee, for all, 2s 

When he was an infant small. 
Thou his image ever see, 
Heavenly face that smiles on thee, 

Smiles on thee, on me, on all ; 
Who became an infant small. 3'' 

Infant smiles are His own smiles ; 
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. 

(1789) 



CRADLE SONG 

FROM SONGS OF EXPERIENCE 

Sleep ! sleep ! beauty bright. 
Dreaming o'er the joys of night; 
Sleep ! sleep ! in thy sleep 
Little sorrows sit and weep. 

Sweet Babe, in thy face 
Soft desires I can trace. 
Secret joys and secret smiles. 
Little pretty infant wiles. 

As thy softest limbs I feel, 
Smiles as of the morning steal 
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
Where thy little heart does rest. 

O ! the cunning wiles that creep 
In thy little heart asleep. 
When thy little heart does wake 
Then the dreadful lightnings break. 

From thy cheek and from thy eye, 
O'er the youthful harvests nigh. 
Infant wiles and infant smiles 
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles. 

(1794) 



A DREAM 

Once a dream did weave a shade 
O'er my Angel-guarded bed. 
That an emmet lost its way 
Where on grass methought I lay. 

Troubled, 'wildered, and forlorn, 
Dark, benighted, travel-worn. 
Over many a tangled spray, 
All heart broke I heard her say: 

' O, my children! do they cry? 
Do they hear their father sigh? 



488 



WILLIAM BLAKE 



Now they look abroad to see: 
Now return and weep for me.' 

Pitying, I dropped a tear ; 
But I saw a glow-worm near, 
Who replied : ' What wailing wight 
Calls the watchman of the night? 

' I am set to light the ground, 
While the beetle goes his round: 
Follow now the beetle's hum; 
Little wanderer, hie thee home.' 



(1789) 



THE DIVINE IMAGE 



To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
All pray in their distress. 
And to these virtues of delight 
Return their thankfulness. 

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
Is God our Father dear ; 
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love, 
Is man, his child and care. 

For Mercy has a human heart; 
Pity, a human face ; 
And Love, the human form divine: 
And Peace, the human dress. 

Then every man, of every clime, 
That prays in his distress. 
Prays to the human form divine: 
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. 

And all must love the human form, 
In heathen, Turk, or Jew. 
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell. 
There God is dwelling too. 

(1789) 



THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER 

A little black thing among the snow. 
Crying ' weep ! weep ! ' in notes of woe ! 
' Where arc thy father and mother, say ? ' — 
'They are both gone up to the church to 
pray. 

'Because I was happy upon the heath, s 
And smiled among the winter's snow. 
They clothed me in the clothes of death. 
And taught me to sing the notes of woe. 

'And because I am happy and dance and 
sing. 



They think they have done me no injury, 10 
And are gone to praise God and his priest 

and king; 
Who make up a heaven of our misery.' 

(1794) . 



THE CLOD AND THE PEBBLE 

' Love seeketh not itself to please. 

Nor for itself hath any care. 
But for another gives its ease. 

And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.' 

So sung a little clod of clay, £ 

Trodden with the cattle's feet. 

But a pebble of the brook 
Warbled out these meters meet : 

'Love seeketh only self to please, 

To bind another to its delight, if 

Joys in another's loss of ease, 

And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.' 

(1794) 



THE TIGER 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies S 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder, and what art. 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10 

And when thy heart began to beat. 
What dread hand? and what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain? 

In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? what dread grasp iS 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

When the stars threw down their spears, 
And watered heaven with their tears. 
Did he smile his work to see? 
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 20 

Tiger ! Tiger ! burning bright 
In the forests of the night. 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

(1794) 



FROM MILTON 



489 



AH SUNFLOWER 

Ah Sunflower, weary of time, 
Who countest the steps of the sun. 
Seeking after that sweet golden clime 
Where the traveler's journey is done — 

Where the youth pined away with desire, s 
And the pale virgin, shrouded in snow, 
Arise from their graves, and aspire 
Where my sunflower wishes to go ! 

(1794) 



NURSE'S SONG 

When the voices of children are heard on 
the green 
And whisperings are in the dale, 
The days of my youth rise fresh in my 
mind, 
My face turns green and pale. 

Then come home, my children, the sun is 
gone down, S 

And the' dews of night arise; 
Your spring and your day are wasted in 
play. 
And your winter, and night in disguise. 

(1794) 



A LITTLE BOY LOST. 

'Nought loves another as itself, 
Nor venerates another so. 
Nor is it possible to thought 
A greater than itself to know. 

'And, father, how can I love you 

Or any of my brothers more? 

I love you like the little bird 

That picks up crumbs around the door,' 



The priest sat by and heard the child ; 
In trembling zeal he seized his hair, 10 

He led him by his little coat, 
And all admired the priestly care. 

And standing on the altar high, 
' Lo, what a fiend is here ! ' said he : 
'One who sets reason up for judge 15 
Of our most holy mystery.' 

The weeping child could not be heard, 
The weeping parents wept in vain : 
They stripped him to his little shirt. 
And bound him in an iron chain, ^o 

And burned him in a holy place 
Where many had been burned before ; 
The weeping parents wept in vain. 
Are such things done on Albion's shore? 

(1794) 



From MILTON 

And did those feet in ancient time 

Walk upon England's mountains green? 

And was the holy Lamb of God 
On England's pleasant pastures seen? 

And did the Countenance Divine s 

Shine forth upon our clouded hills? 

And was Jerusalem builded here 
Among these dark Satanic Mills? 

Bring me my bow of burning gold ! 

Bring me my arrows of desire! 1° 

Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold! 

Bring me my chariot of fire! 

I will not cease from mental fight, 

Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, 

Till we have built Jerusalem is 

In England's green and pleasant land. 

(1804) 



ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796) 

Burns was born near ' AUoway's auld haunted kirk ' on the banks of the Doon, in a 
two-roomed cottage which his fatiier had built with his own hands out of rough stone and 
clay. A storm blew down the gable a few days after his birth, and ' A blast o' Janwar ' 
win' Blew hansel in on Robin.' ' No wonder that one ushered into the world amid such a 
tempest should be the victim of stormy passions,' Burns would afterward say. His father 
was a poor ' renter ' who moved from one farm to another while Burns was growing li^p. 
Amid ' the unceasing moil of a galley slave,' he found time for the ordinary education of a 
Scotch peasant lad and added considerable reading in history and English poetry; but he 
had known many a weary day at the plow-tail and in harvest by the time he was fifteen. 
It was at this age, as he has told us, that he found himself partner in the harvest-field 
with ' a bonrlie sweet sonsie lassie.' ' Among her love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly ; 
and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied vehicle in rime. 
. . . Thus with me began love and poetry.' 

Farming, love, and poetry were the staples of Burns's life from now on. He tried flax- 
dressing at Irvine, a town of some size near-by, but succeeded only in acquiring the bad 
habits of the place and soon returned to the farm and to poetry. After his father's death 
in 1784, he and his brother Gilbert moved to the farm of Mossgiel and a little later he 
met Jean Armour, who after a long and irregular courtship became his wife. His first 
collection of poems was issued at Kilmarnock in 1786, and such was their immediate 
success that he went to Edinburgh and brought out a new edition the following winter. 
He was lionized for a season, but had bitterly to learn the difference between curiosity 
and social acceptance. From this publication he realized enough money to pay for a 
tour of the Highlands, contribute two hundred pounds to the needs of his brother, and 
stock a farm at Ellisland. Here he settled with his wife Jean, now regularly marj-ied, 
in December, 1788. But he had chosen his farm with a poet's rather than a farmer's 
eye, and shortly undertook to add to his earnings by securing a post in the excise at 
Dumfries, — ' gauging auld wives' barrels,' he called it. His next course was to give up 
the farm and remove his family to town. It was a perilous position for one of his 
temperament. Too many ' trusty drouthy cronies ' clustered around him ; the ' social glass ' 
became too frequent ; ' thoughtless follies laid him low, and stained his name.' 

Yet even during these years of decline in health and respectability his genius burned 
brightly. Many of the * old Scots songs ' with which his name is inseparably connected 
were given to the world at this time; many equally fine were not printed until after his 
death. Though it is totally uncritical to think of him as merely an unlettered natural 
singer. Burns never had the leisure or opportunity to become a highly cultivated poet in 
the English language or on the grand scale. He constantly falls back upon his native 
dialect for his most telling phrases and his most magical bursts ; and he is at his best in 
those brief snatches, perfect in pitch and infinite in variety, for which ^ — -and for the 
passionate, imperfect, human bounty of his nature — ■ the world so deeply loves him. 



SONG: MARY MORISON 

O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
Those smiles and glances let me see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor: 
How blythely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 



Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
And yon the toast of a' the town, 

I sigh'd, and said amang them a', i5 

' Ye are na Mary Morison.' 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Wha^e only faut is loving thee? 20 

If love for love thou wilt na gie 

At least be pity to me shown : 
A thought ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 

(1800) 



490 



TO JOHN LAPRAIK 



491 



SONG: MY NANIE, O 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
An' I'll awa to Nanie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill : S 
The night 's baith mirk an' rainy, O ; 

But I '11 get my plaid an' out I '11 steal, 
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. 

My Nanie 's charming, sweet, an' young; 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, : 10 

May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true. 

As spotless as she 's bonie, : 
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, '5 

Nae purer is than Nanie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be? 
I 'm welcome aye to Nanie, O. 20 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 

An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 25 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 

But I 'm as blythe that bauds his pleugh, 
And has nae care but Nanie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I '11 tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O ; 30 

Nae ither care in life hae I, 
But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 

(1787) 



SONG: GREEN GROW THE RASHES 

Chorus. — Green grow the rashes, O ! 
Green grow the rashes, O ! 

The sweetest hours that e'er I spend 
Are spent amang the lasses, O. 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han', S 
In every hour that passes, O : 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An 't were na for the lasses, O ? 

The war'ly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O; 1° 



An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en. 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men, is 

May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; 

Ye 're nought but senseless asses, O : 
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 20 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 

Her prentice han' she try'd on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 

(1803) 



From LINES TO JOHN LAPRAIK 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, 

But just a Rhymer like by chance. 

An' hae to learning nae pretence; 

Yet what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 5 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, ' How can you e'er propose. 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose, 

To mak a sang?' 10 

But, by your leave, my learned foes. 

Ye 're maybe wrang. 

What 's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools? 
If honest nature made you fools, iS 

What sairs your grammars? 
Ye 'd better taen up spades and shools. 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 20 
They gang in stirks and come out asses, 

Plain truth to speak; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek! 



Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire. 
That 's a' the learnin I desire ; 
Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart. 
* * 

(1786) 



25 



492 



ROBERT BURNS 



TO A MOUSE 

ON TURNING UP HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, 
NOVEMBER, 1 785 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, 
Oh, what a panic 's in thy breastie ! 
Thou need na start awa sae hasty 

Wi' bickerin brattle ! 
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee s 

Wi' murd'rin pattle! 

I 'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
Ah' justifies that ill opinion 

Which makes thee startle ^° 

At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve: 
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen icker in a thrave ^S 

'S a sma' request ; 
I '11 get a blessin wi' the lave, 

An' never miss 't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 

Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ^° 

An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' f oggage green ! 
An' bleak December's winds ensuin 

Baith snell an' keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 25 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here beneath the blast 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Till crash! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. . 30 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 

Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 

Now thou 's turn'd out for a' thy trouble. 

But house or hald. 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble 3S 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
In proving foresight may be vain : 
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men 

Gang aft a-gley, 40 

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 

The present only toucheth thee : 

But, och ! I backward cast my ee 45 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear ! 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor, 

— Gray. 

My lov'd, my honored, much respected 
friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish 
end : 
My dearest meed a friend's esteem and 

praise. 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 5 
The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless 
ways; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! tho' his worth unknown, far happier 
there, I ween ! 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh, 

The short'ning winter day is near a 

close; II 

The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh. 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their 

■Repose ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor 
goes, — 
This night his weekly moil is at an end,-^ 
Collects his spades, his mattocks and his 
hoes, 16 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to 
spend. 
And weary o'er the moor, his course does 
hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 20 

Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stachef 

through 

To meet their dad, wi' flichterin noise 

an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie. 
His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's 
smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care be- 
guile, 26 
An' makes him quite forget his labor an' 
his toil. 

Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in. 

At service out amang the farmers roun' ; 

Some ca the pleugh, some herd, some 

tentie rin 30 

A cannie errand to a neibor toun : 

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman* 

grown. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 



493 



In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her ee, 
Comes hame, perhaps to shew a bravv new 

gown, 
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 35 
To help her parents dear, if they in hard- 
ship be. 

With joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters 
meet, 
An' each for other's wee! fare kindly 
spiers : 
The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnotic'd 
fleet; 
Each tells the uncos that he sees or 
hears. 4o 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful 
years ; 
Anticipation forward points the view; 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her 
sheers, 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel 's the 
new; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 4S 

Their master's an' their mistress's com- 
mand 
The younkers a' are warned to obey; 
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 
An' ne'er tho' out o' sight, to jauk or 

play: 
'An' O! be sure to fear the Lord 
alway, so 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night 1 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang 
astray. 
Implore his counsel and assisting might: 
They never sought in vain that sought the 
Lord aright ! ' 

But hark! a rap comes gently to the door. 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the 

same, 56 

Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her 

hame. 
The wily mother sees tlie conscious 
flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her 
cheek ; 6o 

Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires 
his name, 
While Jenny hafiflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears it's nae wild 
worthless rake. 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben, 

A strappin youth ; he takes the mother's 

eye; 6s 



BIythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill taen; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, 

and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows 
wi' joy. 
But, blate and laithfu', scarce can weel 
behave ; 
The mother wi' a woman's wiles can 
spy 70 

What maks the youth sae bashfu' an' sae 
grave, 
Weel-pleas'd to think her bairn 's respected 
like the lave. 

happy love! where love like this is 

found ! 
O heart- felt raptures! bliss beyond com- 
pare ! 

1 've paced much this weary, mortal 

round, 75 

And sage experience bids me this de- 
clare — 
'If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleas- 
ure spare. 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 
pair. 
In other's arms breathe out the tender 
tale, 8o 

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents 
the ev'ning gale.' 

Is there, in human form, that bears a 
heart, 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and 
truth ! 
That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 
youth ? 8s 

Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling 
smooth ! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd? 

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents .fondling, o'er their 
child. 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their dis- 
traction wild? go 

But now the supper crowns their simple 

board, 

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's 

food; 

The sowpe their only hawkie does afford, 

That yont the hallan' snugly chows her 

cud. 
The dame brings forth, in complimental 
mood, 95 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck 
fell, 



494 



ROBERT BURNS 



And aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it 
guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 't was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' 
the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious 
face, _ i°° 

They round the ingle form a circle wide ; 
The sire turns o'er with patriarchal grace 
The big ha'-bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
His lyart hafifets wearing thin and bare; 
Those strains that once did sweet in 
Zion glide, _ ^°^ 

He wales a portion with judicious care; 
And, ' Let us worship God,' he says with 
solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple 

guise ; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest 

aim: ''o 

Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures 

rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the 

name. 
Or noble Elgin beats the heaven-ward 
flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays. 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are 
tame; ^'S 

The tickl'd ear no heart-felt raptures 
raise; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's 
praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred 
page,— 
How Abram was the friend of God on 
high; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage i^o 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 
Or ho^ the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of heaven's avenging 
ire ; 
Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing 
cry; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire; 125 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the 
theme, — 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was 
shed ; 
How he, who bore in heav'n the second 
name. 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his 
head: 130 



How his first followers and servants 
sped; 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a 
land 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced 
by Heav'n's command. i35 

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal 
King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband 
prays : 
Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant 
wing,' 
That thus they all shall meet in future 

days: 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, Mo 
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear. 

Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
In such society, yet still more dear. 
While circling Time moves round in an 
eternal sphere. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's 
pride '45 

In all the pomp of method and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 
Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart ! 
The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will 
desert. 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply in some cottage far apart isi 
May hear, well pleased, the language of 
the soul. 
And in his book of life the inmates poor 
enrol. 

Then homeward all take ofif their sev'ral 
way; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 
And proffer up to Heav'n the warm re- 
quest, 157 
That he, who stills the raven's clam'rous 
nest 
And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the 
best, 160 
For them and for their little ones pro- 
vide; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine 
preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's gran- 
deur springs. 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd 
1 abroad ; 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 



495 



Princes and lords are but the breath of 

kings, '65 

' An honest man 's the noblest work of 

God': 
And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly 
road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far be- 
hind : 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous 
load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness re- 
fin'd! 171 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven 
is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and 
sweet content ! 17s 

And, oh ! may Heaven their simple lives 
prevent 
• From ^ luxury's contagion, weak and vile! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be 
rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much- 
lov'd isle. 180 

O thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 
That stream'd thro' Wallace's undaunted 
heart. 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious 

part, — 
(The patriot's God peculiarly thou art, 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and re- 
ward!) 186 
O never, never Scotia's realm desert. 
But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and 
guard ! 

(1786) 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 

thou ! whatever title suit thee, — 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie ! 
Wha in yon cavern, grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie 
To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee. 
An' let poor damned bodies be; 

1 'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie. 

E'en to a deil, 



To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 
An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame; 

Far ken'd an' noted is thy name; 

An tho' yon lowin heugh's thy hame, 15 

Thou travels far; 
An' faith ! thou 's neither lag nor lame, 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, rangin like a roarin lion, 

For prey a' holes an' corners tryin ; 20 

Whyles, on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, 

Tirlin' the kirks; 
Whyles, in the human bosom pryin, 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I 've heard my rev'rend grannie say, zS 

In lanely glens ye like to stray; 
Or whare auld ruin'd castles gray 

Nod to the moon. 
Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon. 30 

When twilight did my grannie summon 
To say her pray'rs, douce honest woman ! 
Aft yont the dike she's heard yoil bummin, 

Wi eerie drone; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the boortrees comin, 35 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night. 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin light, 

Wi' you mysel I gat a fright 

Ayont the lough ; 4° 

Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight 

Wi' waving sough. 

The cudgel in my nieve did shake. 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake. 
When wi' an eldritch, stoor ' Quaick, quaick,' 

Amang the springs, 46 

Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 

On whistlin wings. 

Let warlocks grim an' wither'd hags 

Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags 5° 

They skim the muirs an' dizzy crags 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues, 

Owre howket dead. 



Thence, countra wives wi' toil an' pain 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; 
For oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witchin skill ; 
An' dawtet, twal-pint hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the bill. 



55 



dg6 



ROBERT BURNS 



Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse, 




Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 


On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 


Down to this time. 


When the best wark-lume i' the house, 




Wad ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse, 


By cantrip wit, 




In prose or rhyme. 


Is instant made no worth a louse, 


6s 




Just at the bit. 




An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye 're thinkin, 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, uS 


When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord. 




Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 


An' float the jinglin icy-boord 




To your black pit; 


Then water-kelpies haunt the foord 




But faith! he'll turn a corner jinkin. 


By your direction. 


70 


An' cheat you yet. 12a 


An' nighted trav'lers are allur'd 






To their destruction. 




But fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! 
wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! 


And aft your moss-traversing spunkies 




Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 


Decoy the wight that late and drunk is : 




Still hae a stake : 


The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys 


75 


I 'm wae to think upo' yon den, 125 


Delude his eyes. 




Ev'n for your sake ! 


Till in some miry slough he sunk is. 




(1786) 


Ne'er mair to rise. 






When masons' mystic word and grip 




A BARD'S EPITAPH 


In storms an' tempests raise you up. 


8o 


• 


Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 




Is there a whim-inspired fool. 


Or, strange to tell, 




Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule. 


The youngest brither ye wad whip 




Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool? 


Aff straught to hell! 




Let him draw near; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool, 5 


Lang syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 


85 


And drap a tear. 


When youth fu' lovers first were pair'd. 






And all the soul of love they shar'd. 




Is there a bard of rustic song. 


The raptur'd hour. 




Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 


Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, 




That weekly this area throng? — 


In shady bow'r; 


go 


Oh, pass not by! 10 
But with a frater-feeling strong 


Then you, ye auld sneck-drawin dog! 




Here heave a sigh. 


Ye cam to Paradise incog, 






And play'd on man a cursed brogue. 




Is there a man whose judgment clear 


(Black be your fa'!) 




Can others teach the course to steer. 


And gied the infant warld a shog, 


95 


Yet runs himself life's mad career iS 


Maist ruin'd a'. 




Wild as the wave? — 
Here pause — ^and thro' the starting tear 


D 'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 




Survey this grave. 


Wi' reeket duds and reestet gizz, 






Ye did present your smoutie phiz 




The poor inhabitant below 


Mang better folk. 


100 


Was quick to learn and wise to know, 20 


An' sklented on the man of Uz 




And keenly felt the friendly glow 


Your spitefu' joke? 




And softer flame; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 


An' how ye gat him i' your thrall. 




And stain'd his name! 


An' brak' him out o' house and hal'. 






While scabs and blotches did him gall. 


105 


Reader, attend ! whether thy soul 25 


Wi' bitter claw, 




Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 


An' lows'd his ill-tongued, wicked scaul, 




Or darkling grubs this earthly hole 


Was warst ava? 




In low pursuit; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 


But a' your doings to rehearse, 




Is wisdom's root. 3° 


Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce, 


no ^ 


(1786) 



TAM GLEN 



497 



OF A' THE 



AIRTS THE 
BLAW 



WIND CAN 



Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 

I clearly like the west, 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There 's wild woods grow an' rivers row 

An' mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flow'rs, 

I see her sweet an' fair: 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There 's not a bonie flow'r that springs 

By fountain, shaw or green ; 
There 's not a bonie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

(1790) 



GO FETCH TO ME A PINT O' WINE 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie; 
That I may drink, before I ^o, 

A service to my bonie lassie : 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, s 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And I maun leave my bonie Mary. 

■ The trumpets sound, the banners fly. 
The glittering spears are ranked ready. 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, n 

The battle closes deep and bloody; 
It 's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Would mak me langer wish to tarry; 
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — is 
It 's leaving thee, my bonie Mary ! 

(1790) 



AULD LANG SYNE 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to min'? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And auld lang syne? 

Cho. — For auld lang syne, my dear, 
For auld lang syne. 
We '11 tak a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

And surely ye '11 be your pint-stowp. 
And surely I'll be mine! 
32 



And we 'II talc a cup o' kindness yet 
For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu'd the gowans fine ; 
But we 've wander'd mony a weary fit is 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

From mornin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd 

Sin' auld lang syne. 20 

And there's a hand, my trusty fier, 

And gie 's a hand o' thine; 
And we»'ll tak a right guid-willie waught 

For auld lang syne. 

(1796) 



JOHN ANDERSON MY JO 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is held, John, S 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my jo. 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 10 

And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither : 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

And hand in hand we '11 go. 
And sleep thegither at the foot, is 

John Anderson my jo. 

(1790) 



TAM GLEN 

My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len'; 

To anger them a' is a pity, 
But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen? 

I 'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, S 

In poortith I might mak a fen': 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If I maunna marry Tam Glen? 

There 's Lowrie, the laird o' Dumeller, 
' Guid-day to you' — brute! he comes ben: 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, ^^ 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen? 



498 



ROBERT BURNS 



My minnie does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me; is 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I '11 forsake him. 
He '11 gie me guid hunder marks ten : 

But, if it 's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O, wha will I get but Tam Glen? 20 

Yestreen at the valentines' dealing. 
My heart to my mou gied a sten : 

For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written, ' Tam Glen ' ! 

The last Halloween I was waukin 23 

My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye. ken: 

His likeness cam up the house staukin. 
And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen ! 

Come counsel, dear tittie, don't tarry; 

I '11 gie ye my bonie black hen, 30 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 

(1790) 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray. 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! S 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
Sce'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast? 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 10 

Where by the winding Ayr we met 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past, 
Thy image at our last embrace — is 

Ah ! little thought we 't was our last ! 

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbl'd shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning 
green ; 
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar 

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene : 
The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, 21 

The birds sang love on every spray. 
Till too, too soon the glowing west 

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 



Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 25 

And fondly broods with miser care-! 
Time but th' impression stronger makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 30 

See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

(1790) 

TAM O' SHANTER 
A TALE 

Of Brownyis and of Bogiliis full is this buke. 
— Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neibors, neibors meet. 
As market-days are wearing late, 
And folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we sit bousin at the nappy s 

And gettin fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots ^miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky, sullen daane, 'f 

Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter : 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, iS 
For honest men and bonie lasses.) 

O Tam ! had'st thou but been sae wise 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bletherin, blusterin, drunken blellum ; 20 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market-day thou was na sober; 
That ilka melder wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, ^S 

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on ; 
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied, that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in 
Doon ; 30 

Or catch't wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet. 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthened sage advices, 35 

The husband frae the wife despises! 



TAM 0' SHANTEK 



499 



But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right, 
Fast by an ingle, bleezin finely, 
Wi' reamin swats that drank divinely; 4o 
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony: 
Tani lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter; 
And ay the ale was growing better: 46 

The landlady and Tarn grew gracious 
Wi' secret favors, sweet, and precious : 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus : so 
The storm without might rair and rustle 
Tarn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy : 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, ss 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; 
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; 60 
Or like the snow falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever; 
Or like the borealis race. 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form 63 

Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether time or tide : 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride, — 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key- 

stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 70 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 't wad blawn its last; 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 74 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mear, Meg, — 
A better never lifted leg, — 80 

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind and -rain and fire; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet. 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots son- 
net, 
• Whiles glowrin round wi' prudent cares, 8s 
Lest bogles catch him unawares. 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 



By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ; 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 91 
Whare drucken Charlie brak 's neck-bane ; 
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 93 

Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon pours all his floods; 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole. 
Near and more near the thunders roll; ^°° 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees. 
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze: 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn! los 

What dangers thou can'st make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae we '11 face the devil ! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. I'o 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd. 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance; "S 

Nae cotillon brent-new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels 
Put life and mettle in their heels: 
A winnock bunker in the east, 
There sat Auld Nick in shape o' beast; 120 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large. 
To gie them music was his charge ; 
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. — 
Coffins stood round like open presses, 123 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantraip sleight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, 
By which heroic Tam was able 
To note upon the haly table 130 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae the rape — 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-i-usted; i3S 
Five scymitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled ; 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft — 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; 140 
Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious; 



'50O 



ROBERT BURNS 



I4S 



The piper loud and louder blew, 

The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 

They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they 

cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit 
And coost her duddies to the wark 
And linket at it in her sark! iso 

Now Tam, O Tarn! had thae been queans, 
A' plump and strapping in their teens! 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen! — 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, iS5 

That ance were plush, o' gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gien them afif my hurdles. 
For ae'blink o' the bonie burdies ! 

* * * 

But Tam ken'd what was what fu' 
brawlie; 
There was ae winsom wench and walie, 16° 
That night enlisted in the core 
(Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore: 
For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd mony a bonie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 165 
And kept the country-side in fear) ; 
Her cutty sark o' Paisley harn. 
That while a lassie she had worn. 
In longitude tho' sorely scarify. 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. 170 
Ah ! little kent thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft for -her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches). 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cow'r. 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r; 176 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang,) 
And how Tam stood like ane bewitch'd. 
And thought his very een enrich'd; iSo 

Even Satan glowr'd and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main: 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tam tint his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, ' Weel done, Cutty-sark ! ' 185 
And in an instant all was dark: 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 191 

When pop ! she starts before their nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When ' Catch the thief ! ' resounds aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, '95 
Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo. 



Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 200 

Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane of the brig: 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 203 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 210 
Ae spring brought afl" her master hale. 
But left behind her ain grey tail. 

* * * (1793) 



WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, i 

An' Rob an' Allan cam to see : 
Three blyther hearts that lee-lang night 
Ye wad na found in Christendie. 

Chorus. — We are na fou, we're nae 
that fou, S 

But just a drappie in our ee; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we '11 taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we ; 1° 

An' mony a night we 've merry been. 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 

It is the moon, I ken her horn. 
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie; 
She shines sae bright to wile us hame, is 
But, by my sooth, she '11 wait a wee ! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa', 
He is the king amang us three ! 2° 

(1790) 



' A WINTER NIGHT 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm! 
Plow shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, 
Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? 

— Shakspere. 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 



DUNCAN GRAY 



501 



When Phoebus gies a short lived glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
Dim-darkening thro' the flaky show'r 5 

Or whirling drift ; 

Ac night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor Labor sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up-choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 10 

Or, thro' the mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong hurl : 

Listening the doors and winnocks rattle, 

I thought me on the ourie cattle, 

Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle is 

O' winter war. 
An' through the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle 

Beneath a scaur. 

Ilk happin bird — wee, helpless thing! — 
That in the merry months o' spring 20 

Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee? 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing 

An' close thy ee? 

Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, -s 
Lone from your savage homes exil'd, — 
The blood-stain'd roost an' sheep-cot spoil'd 

My heart forgets. 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 30 

* * * 

(1787) 

HIGHLAND MARY 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods and fair your flowers. 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, S 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel, 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 10 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life, '5 

Was my sweet Plighland Mary. 

Wi' monie a vow and lock'd embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again, 

We tore oursels asunder j 20 



But O ! fell death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the claj', 

That wraps my I-Iighland Mary ! 

O, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 25 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now in silent dust. 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 30 

But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

(1799) 



BONIE DOON 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 

How can ye blume sae fair? 
Plow can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care? 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonie bird, S 

That sings upon the bough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days, 

When my fause luve was true. 

Thou 'II break my heart, thou bonie bird, 
That sings beside thy mate; 10 

For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon 

To see the wood-bine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, iS 

And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae afF its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw my rose 

But left the thorn wi' me. 20 



(1S08) 



DUNCAN GRAY 



Duncan Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 
Maggie coost her head \u hiegh, 5 

Look'd asklent and unco skiegh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abiegh; 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't'i 

Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 10 

Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 



502 



ROBERT BURNS 



2S 



Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baitli bleer't and Win'. 
Spak o' lowpin owre a linn ; 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 

Time and chance are but a tide, 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 

' Shall I, like a fool,' quoth he, 

'For a haughty hizzie die? 

She may gae to — France for me ! ' 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Flow it comes let doctors tell, 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't! 

Meg grew sick as he grew hale. 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 

Something in her bosom wrings, 

For relief a sigh she brings; 

And O ! her een, they spak sic things ! 
Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 



Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, the wooin o't ! 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 3S 

Fla, ha^ the wooin o't ! 
Duncan could na be her death. 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 
Now they 're crouse and can tie baith ; 

Fla, ha, the wooin o't! 40 

(1798) 



SCOTS WFIA HAE 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 

Or to victory! 
Now 's the day, and now 's the hour ; 5 
See the front o' battle lour; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 

Chains and slavery ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 

Wha can fill a coward's grave? ^° 

Wha sae base as be a slave? 

Let him turn and flee ! 
Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or Freeman fa', iS 

Let him follow me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains 
By your sons in servile chains ! 



We will drain our dearest veins. 
But they shall be free ! 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 

Tyrants fall in every foe ! 

Liberty 's in every blow ! — 
Let us do or die ! 



(1794) 



A MAN 'S A MAN FOR A' THAT 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hings'his head, an' a' that? 
The coward slave, we pass him by. 
We dare be poor for a' that ! 

For a' that, an' a' that, S 

Our toils obscure, an' a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp ; 
The man 's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hamely fare we dine, 

Wear hodden-gray, an' a' that; 1° 

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that, 

Their tinsel show, an'. a' that; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, ^5 
Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that. 20 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

His riband, star, an' a' that. 
The man o' independent mind, 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, ^-5 

A marquis, duke, an' a' that ; 
But an honest man 's aboon his might. 
Quid faith he mauna fa' that ! 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

Their dignities, an' a' that, 3° 

The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth. 
Are higher rank than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 35 
May bear the gree, an' a' that. 
For a' that, an' a' that. 

It 's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 40 

(1800) 



APPENDIX 



PI* 



APPENDIX 



BEOWULF 

It is supposed that Beowulf, the hero of this poem, was a real person. Although B»owulf 
himself does not appear in sober history, his uncle, Hygelac of the poem, is identified with a 
historical Scandinavian hero who invaded the land of enemies on the Lower Rhine about 512 
A. D. (See Section XL of the text below.) Even though the uncle was disastrously defeated 
in this foray, the nephew Beowulf seems to have distinguished himself for bravery and for 
astounding feats of endurance. We infer that, as a result of his prowess, Beowulf was cele- 
brated in song and story, and that one generation of narrators after another enhanced his 
achievements, the enhancement consisting largely, no doubt, in the attachment to our hero 
of exploits originally associated with other personages, — heroes or gods. Such a natural 
process of story growth seems to account for the presence in our poem of some four sepa- 
rate stories: (1) a fight with Grendel, (2) a fight with Grendel's mother, (3) the vic- 
torious return of the hero to his home, and (4) a fight with a dragon. These four stories, 
originally, no doubt, told or sung separately, were probably combined into a form ap- 
proaching that of the present poem, in the course of the seventh century. The events of 
the poem take place in Denmark and southern Sweden, and since England is nowhere men- 
tioned, it seems likely that the main elements of the story had been gathered together before 
the last migration of the Angles to the island. The present form of the poem, however, with 
its unfortunate admixture of Christian elements, is due to a final recension in England. 

The chief merit o£ Beowulf will hardly escape him who reads the poem as a vigorous nar- 
rative of stirring adventure, heroic endeavor, and elevated sentiments. Imagination and de- 
scriptive power are not lacking, and the charm of picturesque phrasing pervades the poem. 



BEOWULF To him was born a son to come after 

him, a young (prince) in the palace, 
THE FIRST PART whom God sent for the people's com- 

fort. He (God) knew the hard calamity, 
5 what they had erst endured when they 
were without a kinsf for a lonsr while; 
HIS GLORIOUS CAREER. THE BIRTH OF ^„^ j^ consideration thereof the Lord 
HIS YOUTH. THE PASSING OF SCYLD. ^f lj^^^ the Ruler of Glory accorded to 

What ho ! we have heard tell of the them a time of prosperity, 
grandeur of the imperial kings of the lo Beowulf was renowned, his fame 
spear-bearing Danes in former days, how sprang wide ; heir of Scyld in the Scede- 
those ethelings promoted bravery. Often lands. So ought a young chief to work 
did Scyld of the Sheaf wrest from harry- with his wealth, with gracious largesses, 
ing bands, from many tribes, their con- while in his father's nurture; that in his 
vivial seats ; the dread of him fell upon 15 riper age willing comrades may in re- 
warriors, whereas he had at the first been turn stand by him at the coming of war, 
a lonely foundling; — of all that (humilia- and that men may do his bidding. Em- 
tion) he lived to experience solace; he inence must, in every nation, be attained 
waxed great under the welkin, he flour- by deeds (worthy) of praise, 
ished with trophies, till that every one 20 As for Scyld, he departed, at the des- 
of the neighboring peoples over the sea tined hour, full of exploit, to go into 
were constrained to obey him, and pay the Master's keeping. They then car- 
trewage : — that was a good king! ried him forth to the shore of the sea, 



PROLOGUE. THE CHIVALRY OF THE DANISH 
EMPIRE. THE COMING OF SCYLD AND 



APPENDIX 



his faithful comrades, as he himself had of men had ever heard tell of; and that 
requested, while he with his words held therewithin he would freely deal out to 
sway as lord of the Scyldings ; dear chief young and old what God should give him, 
of the land, he had long tenure of power. save people's land and lives of men. 

There at hithe stood the ship with 5 Then I heard of work widely pro- 
ringed prow, glistening fresh, and out- claimed to many a tribe throughout this 
ward bound; convoy for a prince. world, to make a fair gathering-place of 
Down laid tlaey there the loved chief, people. His plan was in good time ac- 
dispenser of jewels, on the lap of the complished, with a quickness surprising 
ship, the illustrious (dead) by the mast. lo to men; so that it was all ready, the 
There was store of precious things, greatest of hall-buildings. He gave it 
ornaments from remote parts, brought the name of Heorot, he who with his 
together; never heard I of craft comelier word had wide dominion. -He belied not 
fitted with slaughter weapons and cam- his announcement ; — rings he dis- 
paigning harness, with bills and breast- 15 tributed, treasure at the banquet. The 
mail : — in his keeping lay a multitude hall towered aloft, high and with pin- 
of treasures, which were to pass with nacles spanning the air ; awaited the 
him far away into the watery realm, scathing blasts of destructive flame. No 
Not at all with less gifts, less stately appearance was there as yet of knife- 
opulence, did they outfit him, than those 20 hatred starting up between son-in-law 
had done, who at the first had sent him and father-in-law in revenge of blood, 
forth, lone over the wave, when he was Then the outcast creature, he who 

an infant. Furthermore they set up by dwelt in darkness, with torture for a 
him a gold-wrought banner, high over time endured that he heard joyance day 
his head ; they let the holm bear him, 2; by day, loud sounding in hall ; there was 
gave him over to ocean ; sad .was their the swough of the harp, the ringing song 
soul, mourning their mood. Men do not of the minstrel. 

know to say of a sooth, not heads of Said one who was* skilled to narrate 

halls, men of mark under heaven, who from remote time the primeval condition- 
received that burden ! 30 of men ; quoth he — ' The Almighty made 

the earth, the country radiant with 
I beauty, all that water surroundeth, de- 

lighting in magnificence. Pie ordained 
KING HROTHGAR. HIS POPULARITY. THE gun and moon, luminaries for light to 

BUILDING OF HEOROT AND THE HAPPY 35 the dwcllcrs on earth, and adorned the 

LIFE OF THE COURT. GRENDEL. rustic regions with branches and leaves; 

Then Avas in the towers Beowulf of life also he created for all the kinds that 
the Scyldings, the dear king of his peo- live and move.' 

pie, for a long time famous among the Thus they, the warrior-band, in joy- 

nations — his father was gone other- 40 ance lived and full delight; — until that 
where, patriarch from family seat — one began to work atrocity, a fiend in the 
till in succession to him was born the hall. The grim visitant was called 
lofty Healfdene ; he governed while he Grendel, the dread mark-ranger, he who 
lived, old and warlike, contented Scyld- haunted moors, fen and fastness : — the 
ings. To him four children, one after 45 unblessed man had long time kept the 
another, awoke in the world: Heorogar, abode of monsters, ever since the Creator 
commander of armies, and Hrothgar, and had proscribed them. On Cain's pos- 
Halga the good: I heard that Elan queen terity did the eternal Lord wreak that 
w-as consort of the warlike Scylding. slaughter, for that he slew Abel. He 

To Hrothgar was given martial spirit, 50 profited not by that violence ; but He 
warlike ambition ; insomuch that his banished him far away, the Maker for 
cousins gladly took him for leader, until that crime banished him from mankind. 
the young generation grew up, a mighty From that origin all strange broods 
regiment of clansmen. Into his mind it awoke, eotens and elves and ogres, as 
came, that he would give orders for men 55 well as giants who warred against God 
to construct a hall-building, a great longtime; — He repaid them due retribu- 
mead-house, (greater) than the children' tion. 



BEOWULF 



II the foul ruffian, a dark shadow of death, 

was pursuing the venerable and the 

GRENDEL. HIS SUCCESSFUL RAID. THE DE- youthful alike. He prowled about and 

JECTION OF HROTHGAR AND HIS COURT. j^y in wait ; at nights he continually held 

He set out then as soon as night was 5 the misty moors ; — men do not know in 

come, to explore the lofty house ; how the what direction hell's agents move in their 

mailed Danes had after carousal be- rounds. 

stowed themselves in it. So he found Many were the atrocities which the foe 

therein a princely troop sleeping after of mankind, the grisly prowler, oft ac- 
feast ; they knew not sorrow, desolation lo complished, hard indignities, — Heorot he 
of men. The baleful wight, grim and occupied, the richly decorated hall, in 
greedy, was ready straight, fierce and fu- dark nights — yet was he by no means 
rious, and in their sleep he seized thirty able to come nigh the throne, sacred to 
of the thanes; thence hied him back, God, nor did he share the sentiment 
yelling over his prey, to go to his home ^5 thereof. 

with the war-spoils, and reach his habita- That was a huge affliction for the 

tion. Then was in the dawning and with friend of the Scyldings, heart breaking, 
early day the war-craft of Grendel plain Many a time and oft did the realm sit 
to the grooms; then was upraised after in conclave; they meditated on a remedy, 
festivity the voice of weeping, a great 20 what course it were best for them, soul- 
cry in the morning. The illustrious burdened men, to take against these 
ruler, the honored prince, sat woebegone; awful horrors. Sometimes they vowed 
majestic rage he tholed, he endured sor- at idol fanes, honors of sacrifice; with 
row for his thanes : — since they had words they prayed that the goblin-queller 
surveyed the track of the monster, of the 25 would afford them relief against huge 
accursed goblin; — that contest was too oppressions. Such was their custom, 
severe, horrible, and prolonged. It was heathens' religion; they thought of hell 
not a longer space, but the interval of i" their imagination; they were not 
one night, that he again perpetrated a aware of the Maker, the Judge of actions, 
huger carnage ; and he recked not of it 30 they knew not God the Governor, nor did 
— outrage and atrocity; he was too fixed they at all understand how to glorify the 
in those things. Then was it not hard Crowned Head of the heavens, the Ruler 
to find some who sought a resting-place of glory. 

elsewhere more at large, a bed Vmong It is woe for him who is impelled by 

the castle-bowers, when to them was 35 headlong perversity to plunge his soul 
manifested and plainly declared by con- into the gulf of fire; not to believe in 
spicuous proof the malice of the hell- consolation nor in any way turn : — well 
thane ; — whoever had once escaped the is it for him who is permitted, after 
fiend did from thenceforward hold him- death-day, to visit the Lord, and claim 
self farther aloof and closer. So dom- 40 sanctuary in the Father's arms, 
ineered and nefariously warred he single 

against them all, imtil that the best of m 

houses stood empty. The time was long ; 

twelve winters' space did the friend of ^^^^ ^°^^G^ ^^ ™E hero, a parley. 
the Scyldings suffer indignity, woes of 45 Thus was the son of Healfdene per- 
every kind, unbounded sorrows; and so petually tossed with the trouble of that 
in process of .time it became openly time; the sapient man was unable to 
known to the sons of men through bal- avert the woe. Too heavy, horrible, and 
lads in lamentable wise, that Grendel protracted was the struggle which' had 
warred continually against Hrothgar; he 50 overtaken that people; tribulation cruel, 
waged malignant hostilities, violence and hugest of nocturnal pests, 
feud, many seasons, unremitting strife; That in his distant home learnt a thane 

he would not have peace with any man of Hygelac's, a brave man among the 
of the Danish power, or remove the life- Goths; he learnt the deeds of Grendel; 
bale, or compound for tribute ; nor could 5S be was of mankind strongest in might 
any of the senators expect worthy com- in the day of this life ; he Avas of noble 
pensation at the hands of the destroyer; birth and of robust growth. He ordered 



iv APPENDIX 



a wave-traveler, a good one, to be pre- ye know beforehand the pass-word of 
pared for him; said he would pass over our warriors, the confidential token of 
the swan-road and visit the gallant king, kinsmen. I never saw, of eorls upon 
the illustrious ruler, inasmuch as he was ground, a finer figure in harness than is 
in need of men. That adventure was 5 one of yourselves ; he is no mere good- 
little grudged him by sagacious men, man bedizened with armor, unless his 
though he was dear to them; they egged look belies him, his unique aspect. Now 
on the dareful spirit, they observed au- I am bound to know your nationality, be- 
guries. The brave man had selected fore ye on your way hence as explorers 
champions of the leeds of the Goths, the 10 at large proceed any further into the 
keenest whom he could find; with four- land of the Danes. Now ye foreigners, 
teen in company he took to ship; — a mariners of the sea, ye hear my plain 
swain for pilot, a water-skilled man, meaning; haste is best to let me know 
pointed out the landmarks. whence your comings are.' 

Time went on; the floater was on the 15 
waves, the boat under the cliff. War- iv 

riors ready dight mounted on the prow; 

currents eddied, surf against the beach; beowulf explains their visit to the 
lads bore into the ship's lap bright ap- wardens satisfaction, thereupon 

parel, gallant harness of war; the men, .0 ^^ guides their march to heorot. 
the brave men on adventure, shoved off the warden returns. 

the tight-timbered craft. So the foamy- To him the chiefest gave answer; the 

necked floater went forth over the swell- captain of the band unlocked the treasure 
ing ocean urged by the wind, most like of words : * We are people of Gothic 
to a bird ; till that in due time, on the 25 race, and hearth-fellows of Hygelac. 
next day, the coily-stemmed cruiser had My father was celebrated among the na- 
made such way that the voyagers saw tions, a noble commander by the name of 
land, sea-cliffs gleaming, hills towering, Ecgtheow; he lived to see many years, 
headlands stretching out to sea; then ere he departed an aged man out of his 
was the voyage accomplished, the water- 30 mansion ; he is quickly remembered by 
passage ended. Then lightly up the every worshipful man all over the world. 
Weder Leeds and sprang 'ashore, they We with friendly intent have come to 
made fast the sea-wood, they shook out visit thy lord, the son of Healfdene, the 
their sarks, their war-weeds, they thanked guardian of his people ;^ be thou good to 
God for that their seafaring had been 35 us with instructions ! We have for the 
easy. illustrious prince of the Danes a great 

Then from his rampart did the Scyld- message ; there is no need to be dark 
ings' warden, he who had to guard the about the matter, as I suppose. Thou 
sea-cliffs, espy men bearing over bul- knowest if it is so as we have heard say 
wark bright shields, accoutrements ready 40 for a truth, that among the Scyldings 
for action ; — curiosity urged him with some strange depredator, a mysterious 
impassioned thought (to learn) who author of deeds, in the darkness of night 
those men were. Off he set then to inflicts in horrible wise monstrous, atroc- 
the shore, riding on horseback, thane of ity, indignity, and havoc. Of this I can, 
Hrothgar ; powerfully he brandished a 45 in all sincerity of heart, teach Hrothgar 
huge lance in his hands, and he demanded a remedy ; how he, so wise and good, 
with authoritative words —' Who are ye shall overpower the enemy; if for him 
arm-bearing men, fenced with mail-coats, the fight of afflictions was ever destined 
who have come thus with proud ship over to take a turn, better ti^es to come again, 
the watery highway, hither over the -So and , the seethings of anguish grow 
billows? Long time have I been in fort, calmer; or else for ever hereafter tholeth 
stationed on the extremity of the coun- he a time of tribulation, sore distress, 
try ; I have kept the coast-guard, that on so long as the best of houses resteth there 
the land of the Danes no enemy with upon her eminence.' , , 

ship-harrving might be able to do hurt: 55 The warden addressed them, where he 
— never 'have shield-bearing men more sat on his horse, an officer undaunted: 
openly attempted to land here; nor do 'Of every particular must a sharp es- 



BEOWULF 



quire know the certainty as to words the martial crew as to their kindred: — 
and works — any one who hath a sense ' Whence bring ye damasked shields, gray 
of duty. I gather from what I hear that sarks, and visored helms; — a pile of 
this is a friendly band to the lord of the war shafts? I am Hrothgar's herald 
Scyldings. March ye forward, bearing 5 and esquire. Never saw I foreigners, so 
weapons and weeds ; I will guide you : many men, loftier looking. I think that 
likewise I will command my kinsmen ye for daring, not at all of desperate 
thanes honorably to keep against every fortune, but for courageous emprise, have 
foe your vessel, the newly dight, the boat come to visit Hrothgar.' 
on the beach: until the neck-laced craft lo To him then with gallant bearing an- 
shall bear back again over the water- swered the proud leed of the Wederas; 
streams her dear lord to Wedermark. words spake he back, firm under helmet: 
To such a benign adventurer is it given, — ' We are Hygelac's table-fellows ; my 
that he passeth unscathed through the name is Beowulf. I will expound mine 
encounter of battle.' iB errand to the son of Healfdene, to the 

They proceeded then on their march; illustrious prince, to thy lord, if he will 
the vessel_ remained still, rode on her ca- deign us that we may approach him so 
ble, the wide-bosomed ship, at anchor fast ; good.' 

— the boar-figures shone over the cheek- Wulfgar addressed them — that was a 
guards, pranked with gold, ornate and 20 leed of the Wendlas ; his courage had 
hard-welded; — the farrow kept guard. been witnessed by many, his valor and 
In fighting mood they raged along, the wisdom : — ' Thereanent will I ask the 
men pushed forward; down-hill they ran friend of the Danes, the Scyldings' lord, 
together, until they could see the hall the ring-dispenser, according as thou 
structure, gallant and gold-adorned; that 25 dost petition, the illustrious chief (will 
was to dwellers on earth the most cele- I ask) concerning thy visit; and to thee 
brated of all m.ansions under the sky, that promptly declare the answer, which the 
in which the ruler dwelt; the gleam of brave prince is pleased to give me.' 

it shot over many lands. Then did the Thereupon he returned briskly to 

warrior point out to them the court of 30 where Hrothgar sat, old and hoary, with 
the valiant, which was now conspicuous; his guard of warriors: he went with gal- 

— that they could go straight to it. Like lant bearing till he took his stand before 
a man of war, he wheeled about his the shoulders of the Danish prince; he 
horse, and spake a parting word : ' It is knew the custom of nobility. Wulfgar 
time for me to go ; may the allwielding 35 addressed himself to his liege lord : 
Father graciously keep you safe in ad- ' Here are arrived, come from far, over 
ventures! I will to the sea, to keep the circuit of ocean, men of the Goths; 
guard against hostile force.' the companions name their chief Beo- 
wulf. They make petition, that they, my 

40 prince, may be permitted to exchange 

ARRIVAL AND ACCOST. BEOWULF SENDS IN discourse with thee : do not thou award 

HIS NAME. them a refusal of thy conversation, be- 

The street was stone-paven; the path nignant Hrothgar! They by their war- 
guided the banded men. The war-cors- harness appear worthy of the reverence 
let shone, hard, hand-locked; the pol-45of ^orls; certamly the chief is a valiant 
ished ring-iron sang in its meshes, when man, he who has conducted those mar- 
they in grim harness now came marching tial comrades hither.' 
to the hall. The sea-weary men set yj 

down their broad shields, bucklers mortal 

hard, against the terrace of that man- So the old king knows all about him 
sion. Then they seated themselves on and orders him to be admitted, be- 
the bench; — their mail-coats rang, har- owulf explaineth his visit and en- 
ness of warriors; — the spears stood, terpriseth the battle to fight the 
sea-men's artillery, stacked together, ash- foe. he will remove the scourge, or 
timber with tip of gray; the iron troop 55 die in the attempt. 
was accoutred worthily. Hrothgar, crown of Scyldings, uttered 

Then a proud officer there questioned speech : ' I knew him when he was a 



vi ■ ' APPENDIX 



page. His good old father was Ecgth- battered by foes, where I bound five 
eow by name; to whose home Hrethel monsters, hmnbled the eoten brood; and 
of the Goths gave over his only daughter; in the waves I slew nickers in the night- 
it is his offspring surely, his grown-up time, I ran narrow risks, avenged the 
son, that is hither come, come to visit a 5 grievance of the Wederas — they had 
loyal friend. Sure enough they did say been acquainted with grief — a grinding 
that — the sailors who carried thither for I gave the spoilers ; — and now against 
compliment the presents to the Goths — • Grendel I am _ bound, against that for- 
that he hath thirty men's strength in his midable one, single-handed, to champion 
handgrip, a valiant campaigner. Him lo the quarrel against the giant. Where- 
in ath holy God of high grace sent to us, fore I will now petition thee, prince of 
sent to the western Danes, as I hope, the glorious Danes, thou roof-tree of the 
against Grendel's terror; I must proffer Scyldings, one petition; that thou refuse 
the brave man treasures for his great- me not, oh thou shelter of warriors, thou 
heartedness. Be thou full of alacrity, i5 imperial lord of nations, now I have come 
request the banded friends to enter, one from such a distance, that I may have 
and all, into my presence. Say to them the task alone — I and my band of eorls, 
moreover expressly with words, that they this knot of hardy men — to purge 
are welcome visitors to the Danish leeds.' Heorot. I have learnt too that the ter- 
[Then to the door of the hall Wulfgar 20 rible one out of bravado despises weap- 
went] he announced his message:— ons ; I therefore will forgo the same — 
'To you I am commanded to say by my as I hope that Hygelac my prince may 
chieftain the lord of the eastern Danes, be to me of mood benignant,— that I bear 
that he knoweth your noble ancestry, and not sword or broad shield, or yellow 
ye to him are, over the sea-waves, men ^5 buckler, to the contest ; but with hand^ 
of hardihood, welcome hither. Now ye §rip I undertake to encounter the enemy, 
can e-o, in your warlike equipage, with and contend for life, foe to foe; there 
helm'on head, to the presence of Hroth- shall he whom death taketh resign him- 
gar; leave the war-boards, here to abide, self to the doom of the Lord, 
and the wooden battle-shafts till the par- 30 ' I suppose that he will, if he can have 
ley is over.' Up then arose the prince: his way, in the hall of battle devour 
about him many a trooper, a splendid fearlessly the men of the Goths, just as 
band of thanes; some remained there, he often did the power of the Hrethmen. 
they kept the armor, as their brave cap- Thou wilt not need to cover my head 
tain bade. They formed all together, as 35 (with a mound), but he will have me 
the officer (Wulfgar) showed the way, all blood-besprent, if death taketh me; 
under the roof of Heorot ; [he went with he will bear away the gory corpse with 
couracre high] with a firm look under intent to feast upon it, the solitary ranger 
his helmet, till he took his stand in the will eat it remorselessly, will stain the 
royal chamber. Beowulf uttered a speech 40 moor-swamps ; no need wilt thou have to 
— on him his byrnie shone, a curious care any longer for the disposal of my 
net-work linked by cunning device of the body. Send to Hygelac, if Hild take me, 
artificer— 'To Hrothgar hail! I am the matchless armor that protects my 
Hygelac's kinsman and cousin-thane; I breast, bravest of jackets; -that is a 
have undertaken many exploits in young- 45 rdic of Hrethla s, a work of Weland s. 
sterhood. To me on my native soil the Wyrd goeth ever as she is bound, 
affair of Grendel became openly known; 

seafaring men say that this hall do stand, vii 

fabric superb, of every trooper empty ^^^^^^^^ embraces his visitor's offer 
and useless, as soon as the hght_ of even- 50 ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^p ^^^ ^^^_ 
ing under the cope of heaven is hidden ^^^^ ^^^ newcomers are feasted in 

from view. Then did my people, the best ^^^^ ^^^^ 
of them, sagacious fellows, O royal 

Hrothgar, insense me that I should visit Hrothgar, crown of Scyldings, uttered 

thee ; because they knew the strength of 55 speech : ' For pledged rescue thou, Beo- 
my 'might; they had thentselves been wulf my friend, and at honor's call, 
spectators when I came off my campaign hast come to visit us. Thy father did 



BEOWULF vii 



fight out a mighty feud; he was the angered and thus he is drawn out to 

banesman of Heatholaf among the Wyl- boast of his youthful feats 

fings; then the nation could not keep Unferth made a speech, Ecglaf's son; 

hmi for dread of mvasion. Therefrom he who sat at the feet of the Scyldin^s' 
he went over the yeasty waves to visit 5 lord, broached a quarrelsome theme - 
the Southron folk of the Danes, of the the adventure of Beowulf the high-souled 
honorable Scyldings, at the time when I voyager was great despite to himt because 
had just then become king over the Da- he grudged that any other man should 
rush folk, and m my prime swayed the ever in the world achieve more exploits 
jewel-stored treasure-city of heroes : 10 under heaven than he himself :—' Art 
when Heorogar my elder brother was thou that Beowulf, he who strove with 
dead, no longer living Healfdene s son Breca on open sea in swimming-match, 
He was better than I ! Afterwards I ^here ye twafn out of bravado Explored 
composed the feud for money; I sent to the floods, and foolhardily in deep water 
the Wylfings over the waters ridge an- 15 jeoparded your lives? nor could any man, 
cient treasures; he swore oaths (of hom- fj-iend or foe, turn the pair of you from 
age) to me. _ the dismal adventure! What time ye 

It is a sorrow for me in my soul to twain plied in swimming, where ye twain 
tell to any mortal men what humiliation, covered with your arms the awful stream 
what horrors Grendel hath brought upon 20 meted the sea-streets, buffeted with hands' 
me m Heorot with his malignant strata- shot over ocean; the deep boiled with 
gems. My hall-troop, my warrior band, waves, a wintry surge. Ye twain in the 
is reduced to nothing; Wyrd hath swept realm of waters toiled a sennight; he at 
them away in the hideous visitation of swimming outvied thee, had greater force 
Grendel. God unquestionably can arrest 25 Then in morning hour the swell cast him 
the fell destroyer in his doings. Full oft ashore on the Heathoram people whence 
they boasted when refreshed with beer, he made for his own patrimony dear to 
troop-fellows over the ale-can, that they his leeds he made for the land of the 
m the beer-hall would receive Grendel's Brondings, a fair stronghold, where he 
onset with clash of swords. Then was 30 was lord of folk, of city, and of rin<^s 
this mead-hall at morning-tide, this royal All his boast to thee-ward, Beanstan's 
saloon bespattered with gore, at blush of son soothly fulfilled. Wherefore I an- 
dawn, all the bench-timber was reeking ticipate for thee worse luck — though 
with blood, the hall with deadly gore; thou wert everywhere doughty in battle- 
so much the less owned I of trusty lieges, 35 shocks, in grim war-tug — if thou darest 
of dear nobility, when death had taken bide in Grendel's way a night-long space.' 
those away. Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, uttered 

' Sit now to banquet, and merrily share speech : — ' Lo, big things hast thou, my 
the feast, brave captain, with (thy) fel- friend Unferth, beer-exalted, spoken 
lows, as thy mind moves thee.' 40 about Breca; hast talked of his adventure ! 

Then was there for the Goth-men all Rightly I claim, that I have proved more 
together, in the beer-hall, a table claared ; sea-power, more buffetings in waves, than 
there the resolute men went to sit in the any other man. He and I used to talk 
pride of their strength. A thane at- when we were pages, and we used to 
tended to the service ; one who bore in 45 brag of this — we were both of us at that 
his hand a decorated ale-can; he poured time, in youngsterhood — how that we 
forth the sheer nectar. At times a min- two would out on the main and put our 
strel sang, clear-voiced in Heorot; there lives in j'eopardy; and that we matched 
was social merriment, a brave company so. Drawn sword we had, as we at 
of Danes and Wederas. 50 swimming plied, firm in hand : we meant 

to guard us against the whale-fishes. 

VIII No^ ^ whit from me could he further 

fleet on sea-waves, swifter on holm; not 

unferth the king's orator is jealous. from him would I. So we twain kept 

he baits the young adventurer and 55 together in the sea for the space of five 

IN a scoffing speech dares him to a nights, till the flood parted us, the seething 

nightwatch for grendel. BEOWULF IS billows, coldest weather, darkening ni^ht, 



viii APPENDIX 



and a fierce wind from the north came though thou wast banesmen to thy 
dead against us; rough were the waves. brother, thy next of kin; for which thou 
The sea-fishes' temper was stirred; and shalt in hell damnation dree, though 
then it was that my body-sark, firm, doughty be thy wit. I say to thee of a 
hand-locked, gave me help against the 5 sooth, thou son of Ecglaf, that never had 
spiteful ones; the plaited war-jacket lay Grendel the foul ruffian made such a tale 
about my breast, gold-pranked. Me to of horrors for thy prince, such disgrace 
bottom dragged a spotty monster, tight in Heorot, if thy courage were, if thy 
the grim thing had me in grip; nathless spirit were, so formidable as thou thyself 
't was given me that I got at the vermin lo claimest. But he hath found out that he 
with point, with hand-bill; combat de- need not greatly fear reprisals, grisly 
spatched the mighty sea-brute by my hand. edge-clash, from your people, the mighty 

« Scyldings; he taketh blackmail, respect- 

IX eth no one of the people of the Danes, 

15 but maketh a sport of war, slaughtereth 

BEOWULF CONTINUES HIS STORY AND TELLS and feasteth : — no thought hath he of a 

HOW HE MADE HAVOC OF THE SEA-MON- fight with the spear-Danes. But now 

STERS. HE WAXES WARM AND FLOUTS shall the Goth show him erelong puis- 

THE ORATOR. HE VOWS TO FACE GRENDEL. gance and emprise in the way of war. 

RESTORATION OF SOCIAL HARMONY 20 After that, he who can shall go proud 

WHEREOF THE QUEEN IS THE CENTER, into the mead-hall, when over the sons 

HROTHGAR SOLEMNLY COMMITS TO BE- of men the morning light of another day, 

owuLF THE NiGHTWARD OF HEOROT. the sun, with radiance clothed, shall 

'As repeatedly as the spiteful assail- shine from the south.' 

ants shrewdly pressed me, I served them 25 Then was in bliss the dispenser of 

(liberally) with precious sword as was wealth,^ gray-haired and militant; he be- 

meet. They did not have their slaughter- Heved in help ; the prince of the glorious 

ous revel, the foul brigands, that they Danes, the shepherd of the people, per- 

should eat me up sitting around their ceived in Beowulf a resolute purpose. 

supper, by the floor of the sea; but (on 30 There was laughter of mighty men; 

the contrary), next morning, wounded music sounded ; the words (of song) 

with weapons along the wrack of the were jovial. 

wave, they lay high and dry; by swords Wealhtheow moved forward, Hroth- 

they had their quietus, so that never gar's queen, mindful of ceremonies; she 
afterwards about the swelling highway 35 greeted in her gold array the men in 
should they let seafaring men of their Hall; and then the noble lady presented 
destined course. the beaker first to the sovereign of the 

' Light came frora the east, the bright East-Danes, wished him blithe at the 
signal of God; the waves grew calm, so banquet, and dear to his leeds; — he 
that I was able to see the forelands, the 40 merrily enjoyed the feast and the hall- 
windy walls. Fortune often rescues the cup, valiant king. Then the Helming 
warrior, if he is not fated to die; pro- princess went the round, to elder and to 
vided that his courage is sound ! Any- younger, every part ; handed the jeweled 
how 't was my good luck, that I slew with cup ; till the moment came, that she, the 
the sword nine nickers. Never did I hear 45 diademed queen, with dignity befitting 
of a harder fight under heaven's roof in brought the mead-cup nigh to Beowulf; 
the night-time, nor of a man more dis- she greeted the leed of the Goths, she 
tressed in ocean streams; howbeit I thanked God with wise choice of words, 
escaped the clutch of foes with my life, for that her desire was come to pass, 
though worn and spent. Me the sea up- 50 that she in any warrior believed for 
cast, the swirling flood, upon the land of remedy of woes. He, the death-doing 
the Finns, the heaving billow. I never warrior, accepted the beaker at Wealh- 
heard say aught by thee of such deadly theow's hand, and then he descanted, 
fightings, sword-clashings : Breca never elate for battle ; — Beowulf, son of Ecg- 
yet, at war play, not he nor you, deed 55 theow, uttered speech : ' I undertook that, 
achieved so valorously with flashing when I went on board, and sat on the 
swords — of that I brag not much — sea-boat, with the company of my fel- 



BEOWULF ix 



lows, that I once for all would work out man Beowulf the Goth utter some vaunt- 
the will of your leeds, or fall in the ing words ere he mounted on bed : ' I 
death-struggle, in the grip of the fiend. reckon myself to be in the fury of battle, 
I am bound as an eorl to fulfill the em- in warlike feats, no wise below the pre- 
prise, or in this mead-hall to meet my 5 tensions of Grendel ; for that reason I 
death-day.' To the lady the words were will not with sword give him his quietus, 
well-liking, the vaunt-speech of the Goth; deprive him of life, although I very well 
she walked gold-arrayed, high-born queen may. Naught knoweth he of those 
of the nation, to sit by her lord, gentle practices, to give and take sword- 

Then was again as erst within the hall lo cuts, to hew the shield, dread though 
the lofty word outspoken, the company he be in feats of horror: — but we twain 
was happy, the sound was that of a shall in the night-time supersede the 
mighty people; until that sudden the son blade, if he dare to court war without 
of Healfdene was minded to retire to his weapon ; and thereafter may the allwise 
nightly rest; he knew that against the 15 God, the holy Lord, adjudge success on 
high hall war was determined by the which side soever may to him appear 
monster, from the time when they could meet ! ' 

[not] see the sun's light or shrouding Then the daring warrior laid him 

night came over all, and the creatures down; the pillow received the counte- 
of darkness came stalking abroad ; he 20 nance of the eorl ; and round about him 
warred in obscurity. All the company many a smart sea-warrior couched to his 
arose. Then did man greet man, Hroth- hall-rest. Not one of them thought that 
gar greeted Beowulf, bespake him luck, from that place he should ever again visit 
mastery in the house of hospitality; and his own estate, his folk and castle, where 
delivered this speech : ' Never before, 25 he was brought up ; but they had been in- 
since I could heave hand and shield, did formed that before now a bloody death 
I confide the guard-house of the Danes had all too much reduced them, the Danish 
to any man, but only to thee now on this , people, in that festive hall. But to them, 
occasion. Have now and hold the best the leeds of Wedermark, did the Lord 
of houses ; resolve on success : show valor 30 grant webs of war-speed, strength and 
amain ; be vigilant against the foe ! support, that they by the force of one, 
Thou shalt not have any desire unful- by his single prowess, should all be vic- 
filled, if thou that mighty work with life torious over their foe. For a truth it 
achievest.' is shown, that the mighty God has gov- 

35 erned mankind in every age ! 
X He came in dim night, marching along, 

ranger of the dark. The defenders slept, 

BEOWULF DOFFS HIS ARMOR AND WATCHES tj, whoSC duty it WaS tO guard that 

UNARMED. A POINT OF HONOR. HIS gabled mausion - all slept but One ! 

COMPANIONS SLEEP. 40 Jt was Very well known to all men, 

So Hrothgar, chief of Scyldings, took that the ruthless destroyer might not 
his departure with retinue of men, out of against the will of God whirl them under 
hall; he was minded to join Wealhtheow, darkness; but (all the same) he, vigilant 
his queen and consort. The glory of in defiance of the foe, awaited in full- 
kings had — so men told one another — 45 fraught mood the arbitrament of battle, 
set up a hall-warden against Grendel ; 

he had undertaken the single service xi 

about the patriarch of the Danes, offered , 

watch against the monster ; — assuredly grendel s last meal, the battle be- 
the Gothic leed with joyous mien trusted 5o gins. 

in valorous might and the smile of Then came Grendel marching from the 
Providence. moor under the misty brows; he bore 

Then put he off from him his iron the wrath of God. The assassin meant 
byrnie, helmet from head; delivered to to catch some one of human-kind in that 
his esquire the richly-dight sword, choic- 55 lofty hall ; he tore along under heaven 
est steel; and charged him with the care in the direction where he knew the hos- 
of his war-harness. Then did the valiant pitable building, the gold-hall of men, 



APPENDIX 



metal-spangled, ever ready for his en- The monster was making off; the eorl 
tainment; — that was not the first time followed him up. The oaf was minded, 
he had visited Hrothgar's homestead. if so be he might, to fling himself loose, 
Never had he in his life-days, earlier or and away therefrom to flee into fen-hol- 
later, met so tough a warrior, such hall- 5 lows ; he knew that the control of his 
guards ! fingers was in the grip of a terrible foe ; 

Came then journeying to the hall the that was a rash expedition which the 
felon mirth-bereft ; suddenly the door, devastator had made to Heorot ! 
fastened with bars of wrought iron. The guard-hall roared; — upon all the 

sprang open as soon as he touched it with lo Danes, upon the inhabiters of the castle, 
his hands; thus bale-minded and big with upon every brave man, upon the eorls, 
rage he wrecked the vestibule of the hall. came mortal panic. Furious were both 
Quickly after that the fiend was treading the maddened champions ; the building re- 
on the paven floor; he went ravening; sounded; it was a great wonder that the 
out of his eyes there stood likest to flame i5 genial saloon endured the combatants, 
an eerie light. He perceived in the hall that it did not fall to ground, that fair 
many warriors, a troop of kinsmen, ornament of the country; only that it was 
grouped together, a band of cousins, inwardly and outwardly so firmly be- 
asleep. Then was his mood exalted to smithied with iron staunchions of mas- 
laughter ; he counted, the fell ruffian, that 20 terly skill ! There, from the sill started 
he should sever, ere day came, the life of — as my story tells — many a mead- 
each one of them from his body, seeing bench adorned with gold« where the ter- 
that luck had favored him to gratify his rible ones contended. Thereanent had 
slaughterous appetite. That was not, the Scylding senators weened at the first, 
however, so destined, that he should be 25 that never would any man by mortal 
permitted to eat any more of mankind force be able to wreck it, the beautiful 
after that night. and ivoried house, or by craft to disjoint 

Mighty rage the kinsman of Hygelac . it ; — leastwise fire's embrace should swal- 
curbed, considering how the assassin low it up in vapory reek, 
meant to proceed in the course of 30 The noise rose high, with renewed 
his ravenings. Nor was the marauder violence; the North-Danes were stricken 
minded to delay it ; but he seized promptly with eldritch horror every one, whoso- 
at his first move a sleeping warrior, tore ever heard even out on the wall the dole- 
him in a moment, crunched the bony ful cry, the adversary of God yelling a 
frame, drank blood of veins, swallowed 35 dismal lay, a song unvictorious : — the 
huge morsels; in a trice he had devoured thrall of hell howling for his wound. He 
the lifeless body, feet, hands, and all. held him too fast, he who was in main 
He stepped up nearer forward; he was the strongest of men in the day of this 
then taking with his hand the great- life, 
hearted warrior on his bed. The fiend 40 

reached towards him with his fang : — xii 

he promptly seized with shrewd design ^rendel's flight, his arm remains 
and grappled his arm. Quickly did the ^^^^^ beowulf and is set up as a 

boss of horrors discover that, that never ^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ p^^^^^_ 

in all the world, all the quarters of the ^5 

earth, had he met man more strange with The shelter of eorls. was not by any 

bigger hand-grip; he in mood became means minded to let the murderous visit- 
alarmed in spirit; but never the quicker ant escape alive; he did not reckon his 
could he get away. His. mind was to be life-days useful to any one of the leeds. 
going ; he wanted to flee into darkness ; So There did many an eorl of Beowulf's 
rejoin the devils' pack; his entertainment unsheath his old heirloom'; — would res- 
there was not such as he before had met cue the life of their master, their great 
with in bygone days. Then did the brave captain ; if so be they might. They knew 
kinsman of Hygelac remember his dis- it not,— when they plunged into the fight, 
course of the evening; up he stood full BSthe stouthearted companions, and thought 
length, and grappled with him amain; to hack him on every side, reach his life, 
his fingers cracked as they would burst. — that no choicest blade upon eai'th, no 



BEOWULF xi 

war-bill would touch that destroyer, but in buffets worsted, had, death-doomed 
he had by enchantment secured himself and fugitive, fled in mortal terror to the 
against victorious weapons, edges of all nickers' mere. There was the face of the 
kinds. His life-parting [in the day of lake Surging with blood, the gruesome 
this life] was destined to be woeful, and 5 plash of waves all turbid with reeking 
the outcast spirit must travel far off into gore, with sword-spilth ; — the death- 
Ihe realm of fiends. Then discovered he doomed (Grendel) had discolored it ; — 
that, he who erst in wanton mood had presently he, void of joyance, in fenny 
wrought huge atrocity upon mankind — ■ covert yielded up his life, his heathen 
he was out of God's peace — that his lo soul ; there did Hela receive him. 
body was not at his command, but the Thence back home went the old com- 

valiant kinsman of Hygelac had got hold panions along with many a bachelor from 
of him by the hand; to either was the the pleasure-trip; from the mere in high 
other's life loathsome. A deadly wound spirits riding on horses, barons on jen- 
the foul warlock got; on his shoulder the 15 nets. There was Beowulf's achievement 
fatal crack appeared; the sinews sprang rehearsed; many a one often said that 
wide, the bone-coverings burst. To Beo- south nor north between the seas all the 
wulf was victory given; Grendel must flee wide world over, other none of shield- 
life-sick therefrom to the coverts of the bearing warriors under the compass of 
fen, must make for a cheerless habitation ; 20 the firmament preferable were or wor- 
— full well he knew that the end of his thier of sovereignty. They did not, how- 
life was reached, the number of his days. ever, at all disparage their natural lord. 
All the Danes had in the issue of that gracious Hrothgar; but he was a good 
dire struggle the fulfilment of their de- king ! 

sire. ^5 Now and then the gallant warriors 

He had then purged, he who but now loosened their russet nags for a gallop, 
came from far, sagacious and resolute, to run a match, where the turfways 
Hrothgar's hall ; he had rescued it from looked fair, or were favorably known, 
danger; had succeeded in his night-task Otherwhiles a thane of the king's, bom- 
with brilliant achievement. The leed of 3° bastic groom, his mind full of ballads, 
the Gothic companions had made good the man who remembered good store of 
his vaunt to the East-Danes; likewise he old-world tales — word followed word by 
had entirely remedied the horror, the the bond of truth — began anon to re- 
harrowing sorrow, which they were en- hearse, cunningly to compose, the adven- 
during before, and of dire necessity were 35 ture of Beowulf, and fluently to pursue 
forced to suffer ; — huge indignity. That the story in its order, with interlacing 
was a token conspicuous, when the hero words. At large he detailed, what he 
of battle had affixed the hand, arm, and had heard say of Sigemund's exploits, 
shoulder — that was the whole affair of much that was strange, the battle-toil 
Grendel's fang — under the gabled roof. 40 of the Wselsing, distant expeditions, 

things the sons of men quite knew not 
XIII of, feud and atrocity ; — none but Fitela 

, by his side, when he would say aught of 

HORSEMEN UPON GRENDEL s TRACK. RID- ^^^^ matter, uuclc to nephew, as they 
ING, RACING AND TALE-TELLING. BEO- 45 ^^^ g^^j. g^^^d by One another in every 
wulf's ADVENTURE A MINSTRELS struggle: they had with swords laid low 
theme; his fame coupled with sige- j^^j^y q£ ^^^ monster ■ brood. To Sige- 
mund's; contrasted with heremods. ^^^^ tj^ej.g sprang up after his death- 
Then was in the morning — so goes day no little fame; forasmuch as he, 
my story — about the gift-hall many a 5o hardy in fight, had quelled the dragon, 
warrior ; the chiefs of the folk came from the keeper of treasure ; he, the son of a 
far and near, through divers ways, to prince, in under the hoary rock, single- 
survey the prodigy, the traces of the handed enterprised the perilous deed; — 
loathed one. His life-ending was no Fitela was not with him. Nathless he 
grief whatever to any of those who sur- 55 succeeded so well that the sword sped 
veyed the track of the vanquished, how through the stupendous worm, till it 
he in doleful mood away from that place, stuck in the bank, noble iron ! the dragon 



APPENDIX 



died the death. The champion had by see a remedy for any of my woes, while 
valor attained that he might enjoy the the best of houses stood blood-stained, 
jewel-hoard at his own discretion; he soaked in slaughter; the woe had scat- 
laded the sea-boat, the son of Wsel% bore tered all my senators, as men who weened 
to the bosom of the ship the bright orna- 5 not that they ever should rescue the na- 
ments; the worm dissolved with heat, tional edifice of my leeds from the hate- 
He was by daring exploits the most ful ones, the demons and bogles, 
famous of adventurers far and wide over ' Now hath a lad, through might of 

the world, shelter of warriors; such God, achieved the deed which we all ere- 
eminence he won. lo while were unable with our wisdom to 

When Heremod's warfare had slack- compass. Lo ! that may she say, what 
ened, his puissance and emprise, he lady soever mothered that child by human 
among the Eotens was decoyed forth into generation, if yet she liveth, that to her 
the power of enemies, promptly sent out was the Ancient Master favorable in her 
of the way. Him did billows of sorrow i5 child-bearing ! 

disable too long ; he to his leeds, to all ' Now I will heartily love thee, Beo- 

his princes, became a loyal anxiety, wulf, youth most excellent, as if thou 
Moreover, in his earlier times, many a wert my son; from this time forth keep 
wise countryman had often deplored the thou up the new relation. There shall 
adventurous life of the ardent soul, such 20 be no lack to thee of any desires in the 
a one as had trusted to him for remedy world, so far as I have power. Full oft 
of grievances, that the royal child might have I for less service decreed recom- 
grow powerful, succeed to the state of his pense, honor from the treasury, to a less 
fathers, protect the people, the treasure distinguished hero, less prompt to fight, 
and the castle, realm of heroes, patri- 25 ' Thou thyself hast by deeds achieved 
mony of the Scyldings. There was he, that thy fame will live ever and always. 
Hygelac's kinsman, to all mankind, and May the Almighty reward thee with 
to his friends, more acceptable; the other good, as he hath just now done!' 
was seized with fury. Beowulf uttered speech, Ecgtheow's 

At intervals racing they with their 30 son : * We discharged that high task, 
horses measured the fallow streets, fighting with right good heart; shrewdly 
Then was the light of morning launched we enterprised the terror of the unknown, 
and advanced; there was many a varlet I had liked it vastly better, that thou 
going eager-minded to the lofty hall to hadst seen his very self, the fiend in full 
see the strange prodigy ; — likewise the 35 gear, ready to drop. I ^thought quickly 
king himself from his domestic lodge, to fix him on a bloody bed with hard 
keeper of jeweled hoards, trod with grapplings, that he for my hand-grip 
glorious mien, gorgeously distinguished in should lie death-struggling, unless his 
the midst of a great retinue; — and his body vanished; I could not, as the An- 
queen with him, measured the path to 40 cient would not, balk his passage ; I did 
the mead-hall with a bevy of ladies. not stick close enough to him, the man- 

queller; the fiend was too over-mighty 

XIV in his making off. However he left his 

fist — to save his life and mark his track 

A PATRIARCHAL -qTHANKSGiviNG. BEG- ^5 _ j^jg ^^m and shouldcr : not thereby 

wulf's account of the fray, effect however has the wretched being bought 

UPON UNFERTH. reprieve; none the longer will he live, 

Hrothgar uttered speech — he was go- the loathsome pest burdened with crimes ; 

ing to Hall; he stood on the staple; he but the wound hath him, m deadly grip 

beheld the steep roof gold-glittering and 5o close pinioned, in baleful bands ; m that 

the hand of Grendel. condition must he, crime-stained wretch, 

* For this spectacle a thanksgiving to abide the great doom, according as the 

the Almighty be done without delay ! Ancient One may will to assign his por- 

Much despite I endured, capturings by tion.' 

Grendel; always can God work wonder 55 A silenter man was then 'the son of 
after wonder, the Lord of Glory ! It was Ecglaf in the brag of martial exploits ; 
but now that I thought I should never since it was by the hero's valor the 



BEOWULF xiii 



ethelings beheld the hand, the fiendish archers. I heard not many instances of 
fingers, over the high roof, every one men giving to other at ale-bench four 
straight before him. Each one of the treasures gold-bedight in friendlier wise, 
nail-places was likest to steel, hand-spur About the helmet's roof the crest was 
of the heathenish marauder, horrible 5 fastened with wire-bound fencing for the 
spikes; every one declared there was head, in order that file-wrought war- 
nothing so hard would graze them, no scoured blades might not cruelly scathe 
sword of old celebrity that would take it, when the shielded fighter had to go 
off the monster's bloody war-fist. against angry foes. 

10 Then did the shelter of eorls command 

^v to bring eight horses gold-cheeked into 

the court within the palines; on one of 

HEOROT RESTORED. REJOICINGS AND GIV- .!,«,.. .f^^.1 ^-U ui ?' • , 

TNr OT. TTFT^ ^^°°^ *"^ saddle gaily caparisoned 

and decorated with silver, which was the 

Then was order promptly given that '5 war-seat of the high king, when the son 
the interior of Heorot should be dec- °^ Healfdene was minded to exercise the 
orated; many they were, of men and of P'^y °^ swords; — never failed in the 
women, who garnished that genial palace, ^^'O"* the charger of the famous (king) 
hospitable hall. Gold-glistering shone the when the slain were falling. And then 
brocaded tapestries along the walls, pic- 20 *^^*^ *^^^ ^^ief of the Ingwines deliver 
tures many for the wonder of all people ""to Beowulf possession of both at once, 
who have an eye for such. That bright '^o^h horses and arms; — bade him enjoy 
building was terribly wrecked in its them well. ^ So manfully did the illustri- 
whole interior, though it had been o"s chieftain, the hoard-warden of heroes, 
strengthened with iron fastenings; the 25 reward battle-risks with horses and treas- 
hinges were wrenched away; the roof "^es, so asnever will any mispraise them 
alone had escaped altogether unhurt, yho is minded to speak sooth accord- 
when the destroyer, stained with atroci- ^^S to right, 
ties, took to flight in desperation of life. xvi 

It is not easy to elude [death], try it 30 , 

who will; but every living soul of the °^^^^ ™ beowulf s comrades, music 
sons of men, of dwellers upon ground, '^^^ song. 

must of necessity approach the destined Moreover, to each one of those who 

spot, where his body, bedded in fast re- had made the voyage with Beowulf, did 
pose, shall sleep after supper. 35 the captain of warriors give a precious 

Then was the time and the moment, gift at the mead-bench, an old heir- 
that Healfdene's son should go to hall; loom; and gave orders to compensate 
the king was minded himself to share with gold for that (missing) one, that 
the feast. Never that I heard of did one whom Grendel had atrociously killed, 
that nation in stronger force about their 40 as he would have killed more of them^ 
bounty-giver more bravely muster. They had not the providence of God, had not 
went to bench in merry guise — while Wyrd, stood in his way; — and, the 
their kinsmen enjoyed the copious feast, courage of that man. The Ancient One 
and with fair courtesy quaffed many a ruled then, as he now and always doth, 
mead-bowl — mighty men in the lofty hall, 45 over all persons of human race ; there- 
Hrothgar and Hrothulf. The interior of fore is prudence eachwhere best, fore- 
Heorot was wholly filled with friends; no cast of soul. Much experience of' pleas- 
treachery had imperial Scyldings at that ant and of painful must he make, who 
early date attempted. long here in these struggling days brooks 

Then did" the son of Healfdene present 5o the world, 
to Beowulf a golden ensign in reward of Then was song and instrumental music 

victory, _ decorated staff-banner, helmet together blended, concerning Healfdene's 
and mail-coat; many beheld when they war-chief,— the harp was struck, a ballad 
brought the grand treasure-sword before often recited, what time the hall-joy 
the hero. Beowulf tasted the beaker on 55 along the mead-bench was invoked by 
the hall-floor; no need had he to be Hrothgar's minstrel, 
ashamed of that bounty-giving before the ■* * * 



xiv APPENDIX 



XVII among the treasures of men heard I ever 
of under heaven, since Hama bore away 

A PICTURE OF SOCIAL PLEASURE. SPEECH ^q ^^e bright fortress the necklace of the 

OF THE QUEEN TO THE KING. Brisings — jewel and casket; he fled the 

* * * 5 toils of Eormanric ; chose eternal counsel. 

Enjoyment rose high as before, bright That collar had Hygelac of the Goths, 

-was the sound of revelry, the drawers grandson (or nephew) of Swerting, on 
served wine out of curious flagons. his latest expedition, when under his flag 
Then came Wealhtheow forward, mov- he defended his prize, guarded the spoil; 
ing under her golden diadem, to where lo him Fate took off, when he for wanton- 
the two brave men sat, uncle and nephew ; ness challenged woe, feud with the Fri- 
up to that time ^vas their natural affec- sians ; he carried that decoration, the 
tion undisturbed, either to other true. costly stones over the wave-bowl, the 
Likewise there Unferth the speaker sat mighty chieftain; he fell shield in hand; 
at the feet of the Scyldings' lord ; every 15 so then came into the power of the 
man of them trusted his spirit that he Franks the corpse of the king, the breast 
had great courage, though he had not apparel, and the collar along with the 
been loyal to his kindred at sword-play. rest: inferior combatants stripped the 

Spake then the lady of the Scyldings: slain by the fortune of war; the people 
— ' Receive this beaker, sovereign mine, zo of the Goths tenanted the bed of death, 
wealth-dispenser! be thou merry, a mu- — The hall echoed with sound (of 
nificent friend of men, and speak to the music). 

Goths with comfortable words. So it Wealhtheow uttered speech; she spake 

behooves one to do! Near and far, thou before that company: 'Brook this collar, 
now hast peace ! To me it hath been ^5 Beowulf, beloved youth, with luck, and 
said, that thou wouldest have the hero for make use of this mantle ; stately posses- 
thy son. Heorot is purged, the bright sions; and prosper well; make thyself 
ring-hall; dispense whilst thou mayest famous by valor, and to these boys be 
many bounties; — and to thy children thou a kind adviser! I will reward thee 
leave folk and realm, when thou must 3° for it. Thou hast attained, that far and 
away to see Eternity. I know my gra- near, for all future time, men will cele- 
cious Hrothulf that he will honorably brate thee, even as widely as the sea 
govern the younger ones, if thou earlier encircleth windy walls. Be thou, whilst 
than he, O friend of the Scyldings, thou live, a happy prince ! With good 
quittest the world. I think that he will 35 will I accord thee precious possessions, 
repay our children with good, if he that Be thou to my son loyal with deeds, sus- 
fuUy remembers, what gracious atten- taining joyance. Here is each warrior to 
tions thou and I bestowed for his comfort other true, kindly disposed, loyal to their 
and advantage in the time past when he chief; the thanes are obedient, the people 
was an infant.' She turned then towards 40 all ready ! Retainers, be merry, do as I 
the bench where her boys were, Hrethric bid you.' 

and Hrothmurld, and the sons of mighty She went then to her chair. There was 

men, the youth all together ; there the high festivity ; men drank wine, Wyrd 
brave man sat, Beowulf of the Goths, by they knew not, the cruel destiny, as it 
the two brothers. 45 had gone forth, for many a noble. By 

and by the evening came, and Hrothgar 

XVIII betook him to his lodge, the prince to his 

repose. 

GIFTS OF THE QUEEN TO THE HERO AND ^„,,, ,1 , , j j iU i 11 

^ ^ Countless nobles guarded^^he hall, as 

HER SPEECH TO HIM. THE HALL IS AR- cq +1 „ u ^ ft j • r»i- !i 

=" they had often done ni earliCT^tmie : they 

RANGED AS A DORMITORY. ^^„„,.^^^ ^.^ u u } A "^ 

cleared away the bench-boards ; it was 
To him the cup Avas borne ; and friendly strewn throughout with beds and bolsters, 
invitation (to drink) was offered with One of the revelers, whose end was near, 
words ; and twisted gold was graciously lay down to rest in hall a doomed man. 
presented, armlets two, a mantle and^^ At their heads they set the shields, the 
rings; the grandest of carcanets that I bright bucklers; there on the bench was 
have heard of on earth. None superior over each etheling, plain to be seen, the 



BEOWULF XV 



towering war-helmet, the ringed mail- the same proportion as female strength, 
coat, the shaft of awful power. Their Avoman's war-terror, is (of less account) 
custom was that they were constantly with an armed man ; when the well- 
ready for war, whether at home or in hafted steel, hammer-toughened, the 
the field, in both cases alike, whatever 5 bloodstained sword, with edge effective, 
the occasion on which their liege lord sheareth resisting boar on helmet. Then 
had need of their services ; — it was a was the hard-edged sword drawn 
good people. throughout the benches, many a wide 

buckler raised firm in hand; many one 
THE SECOND PART ^° thought not of helmet, nor of spacious 

byrnie, when the alarm surprised him. 
XIX The hag was in a hurry; it wanted to 

get out from there with life, because it 
IN THE NIGHT THE OLD WATER-HAG COMES, was discovered ; promptly it had seized 
SEIZES ONE OF THE SLEEPERS, AND 15 one of the ethelings tight, and then it 
FETCHES AWAY grendel's ARM. BEO- ^eut to fen. That man was to Hrothgar, 
• WULF IS HASTILY SUMMONED TO THE in quality of comradc, dearest of war- 
KiNG AT EARLY DAWN. riors between the seas, mighty shield- 

So they sank down to sleep. One there combatant ; — him the hag crushed in 
was who sorely paid for that night's rest, 2° his sleep, illustrious baron. Beowulf was 
in the manner that had very often hap- not there; but another lodging had been 
pened to them, since Grendel had oc- assigned, after the gift-giving, to the dis- 
cilpied the gold-hall, had perpetrated tinguished Goth. A cry was heard in 
violence, until his end arrived, death after Heorot ; the blood-sprent hag took away 
crimes. That became manifest, widelv ^5 the well-known hand ; anxiety was re- 
known to men, that an avenger still lived newed, was set up in the castle. That 
after the (slain) foe; long to remember barter was not good, which they on both 
the disaster; Grendel's mother, beldam sides were compelled to pay for with 
troll-wife, thought of her desolation, lives of friends. 

creature that had to dwell in the dreari- 3o Then was the venerable king, the hoary 
ness of water, cold streams, ever since man of war, in embittered mood, when 
Cain was the knife-bane of his only he knew that his chief est thane no longer 
brother, his father's son ; he then went hved, that the man most dear to him was 
forth an outlaw, marked with murder, dead. Hastily to (the king's) bower 
shunning human society; he kept the 35 was Beowulf fetched, the victorious 
wilderness. Thence grew a number of stripling. At early dawn, he went with 
branded creatures; — one of those was his warriors, the noble champion, he and 
Gr6ndel, horrible ban-wolf; he at Heorot his comrades, where the sapient king was 
found a vigilant man waiting for battle. waiting to be resolved, whether the Al- 
There did the monster grapple with him ; 40 mighty will ever, after the spell of woe, 
he, however, remembered the strength of bring about a change. He then marched 
his might, the marvelous gift which God along the flooring, the expedite man, with 
had given to him., and he trusted to the his little band,— hall-tmibers echoed — 
Supreme for grace, courage, and support; until he accosted with words the wise 
therefore he overcame the fiend, subdued 45 lord of the Ingwines, and inquired if, 
the hellish demon; so he departed crest- according to his sincere wish, he had 
fallen, void of joyance, to see his death- had a restful night, 
place, foe of man. And yet his mother, 

nevertheless, bloodthirsty and gallows- xx 

minded, was going to enter upon a 5o , , „>„ „ „ 

'r 1 , '^ '^ , T 4.U A t-U HROTHGAR S ANSWER TO BEOWULF S MORN- 

sorrow-fraught way to wreak the death 
of her son. 

So the hag came to Heorot where the 
jeweled Danes slept throughout the hall. 
Then was it for the eorls a sudden up- ?^5 Hrothgar, crown of Scyldings, uttered 
set. when Grendel's mother burst into speech : ' Ask not thou after welfare ! 
I'.ieir midst. The terror was less just in Grief is renewed for the Danish leeds. 



ING SALUTATION. HE DEPLORES THE 
FATE OF iESCHERE AND DESCRIBES THE 
HAUNT OF THE WATER-DEMONS. 



xvi APPENDIX 



yEschere is dead, Yrmenlaf's elder murky to the clouds, when wind stirreth 
brother, my secretary and my counselor ; foul weather, till the air thickens, the 
my body-squire, when we in battle de- skies crack. Now is it again to thee 
fended our heads, what time foot-fighters alone that we look for counsel ! The 
closed,' boar-crests clashed ; — such should 5 haunt as yet thou knowest not, the 
a warrior be, a long-tried etheling, such dreadful place, where thou mayest find 
as ^schere was. In Heorot hath he met the guilty felon ; go for it if thou dare ! 
his death at the hands of the raging de- I will recompense thee for that warfare 
stroyer ; I know not in what direction with treasure, with old stored wealth, as 
the gruesome corpse-exulting thing took 10 I did before, with coiled gold, if thou 
its return-way leaving tracks of its for- comest away.' 
age. She hath wreaked the feud, for 

that thou yesternight didst quell Gren- xxi 

del in masterful wise with stern grap- 

plings; for that he too long had wasted 15 ^^°^^^^ ^°°^^"^ "^^^ ^^^^ ^^° ^^^^^ 
and destroyed my people. He in fight undertakes the new adventure. 

succumbed with forfeiture of life; and the cavalcade to the mere, the 
now hath come the other, a mighty look of it. beowulf arms ; his sword 

ravager, would avenge her kin; — yea, is described. 

hath further aggravated the feud, as may 20 Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, uttered 
well appear to many a thane, who along speech : ' Sorrow not, experienced sire ! 
with his sovereign groans in spirit, in better is it for every man that he should 
cruel heart-grief; now the hand of him avenge his friend, than that he should 
who was the promoter of all your de- greatly mourn. Every one of us must 
sires lies still in death. 25 look for the end of worldly life ; he who 

' That I did hear say by land-owners, has the chance should achieve renown 
leeds of mine, heads of halls, that they before death; that is for a mighty man, 
saw a pair of such, huge mark-stalkers, when hfe is past, the best memorial, 
keeping the moors, creatures of strange Rouse thee, guardian of the kingdom ! let 
fashion ; one of them was, according to 30 us promptly set forth to explore the route 
the clearest they could make out, a bel- of Grendel's kin. I vow it to thee ; he 
dam's likeness, the other miscreated thing shall by no means escape to covert; 
trod lonely tracks in man's figure; only neither in the bowels of the earth, nor 
he was huger than any other man ; him in the haunted wood, nor in ocean's depth 
in old times the country folk used to 35 — go where he will ! This day have thou 
call Grendel: they know not about any patience of all thy woes, as I have high 
father, whether they had any in pedigree confidence in thy behalf.' 
before them of mysterious goblins. They Up sprang then the aged (king) ; he 

inhabit unvisited land, wolf-crags, windy thanked God, the mighty Lord, for what 
bluffs, the dread fen-track, where the 40 that man had spoken. Then Hrothgar's 
mountain waterfall amid precipitous horse was bridled, the crull-maned 
gloom vanished beneath, flood under charger. The wise monarch rode forth 
earth; not far hence it is, reckoning by stately; the foot-force marched, of shield- 
miles, that the mere standeth, and over bearing men. Traces there were broadly 
it hang rimy groves ;• a wood with 45 visible along the slopes of the weald, 
clenched roots overshrouds the water. the track (of the foe) over the grounds; 
There may every night a fearful portent right forward (the warlock) had gone, 
be seen, fire on the flood; none so wise over the murky moor, it had earned off, 
liveth of the children of men as to know lifeless, the most beloved of kmdred 
the depth. Though the heath-roamer, 50 thanes, of those who kept home with 
when exhausted by hounds, the hart Hrothgar. ^ r 1 i- 

strong in his horns, make for the wood- Then did the scion of ethelmgs pass 

coVerts, driven from afar; sooner will lightly over steep stone-banks, narrow 
he resign his breath, his life on the bank, gulhes, strait lonesome paths, an un- 
sooner than he will there in plunge his 55 traveled route, sheer bluffs, many habita- 
head. That is no comfortable place; tions of nickers. He with few compan- 
therefrom mount up the raging waves, ions, practised men, went forward to 



BEO\¥ULF 



explore the ground, until that he of a need ; — the name of that hafted blade 
sudden perceived the gloomy trees over- was Hrunting, it v\'as preeminently one 
hanging the grisly rock, a joyless wood; of old heirlooms; — the edge was iron, 
beneath it was a standing water, dreary mottled with poison-twigs, hardened with 
and troubled. All the Danes, all the 5 battle-gore ; never had it in conflict 
friends of the Scyldings, had a shock of proved false to any man who brandished 
feeling, many a thane had to suffer; hor- it with hands, such man as durst adven- 
ror seized each warrior, when on that ture on paths of terror, where nations 
lake-cliff they came across the head of meet as foes ; that was not the first occa- 
^schere. The pool seethed with blood lo sion on which it had been required to dis- 
— the folk beheld it — with hot gore. charge heroic work. Manifestly Ecglafs 

The horn sounded from time to time a son, of doughty puissance, remembered 
spirited bugle-blast. The troop all sat not what he had recently uttered when 
them down; there saw they along the flushed with wine, seeing now he made 
water many things of serpent kind, mon- 15 loan of that weapon to a rarer sword- 
strous sea-snakes at their swimming gallant; — for himself he durst not ad- 
gambols; and likewise on the jutting venture his life among the turmoil of 
slopes nickers lying, those that in the early waves, to fulfil mastery ; — there he fell 
hours of the morning often procure short of glory, of high achievement. It 
disastrous going on the sailroad ; dragons 20 was not so with the other, when he had 
and strange beasts : — they tumbled harnessed him for combat, 
away, spitish and rage-blown ; they had 

caught sound of the racket, the clarion's xxii 

clang. The leed of the Goths with an 

arrow out of his bow detached one of ^5 beowulf s nuncupatory will. he 
them from life, and from all future swim- plunges into the abyss and meets 

ming matches; insomuch that in his vitals the troll-wife. the battle begins. 
stood fixed the inexorable war-shaft; he Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, uttered 

in the element was the slacker at swim- speech: 'Bethink thee now, great son of 
ming, from the circumstance that death 30 Healfdene, sapient monarch, now I am 
had caught him. Promptly was he on ready to start, oh, thou gold-friend of 
the waves with boar-poles harpoon- men, what we two lately talked of; — 
armed, tightly nipped — barred of his If I in thy service had to quit Hfe, that 
tricks — and landed on the point, the thou to me wouldest ever be, after my de- 
prodigious wave-tosser ; — the men be- 35 parture, in the place of a father ; — be 
held the grisly goblin. thou protector to my kindred thanes, my 

Beowulf geared himself in knightly familiar comrades, if Hild should take 
armor ; in no wise was he anxious for his me ; in such a case do thou, beloved 
life ; now must the war-byrnie, hand- > Hrothgar, forward the presents which 
woven, spacious and decorated, make 40 thou hast given me, to Hygelac. So will 
trial of swimming; the byrnie which the master of the Goths be able to under- 
knew to protect the body, that his breast, stand by that gold, Hrethel's son will be 
his life, might not be scathed by the able to see for himself when he gazeth 
grip of battle, the spiteful clutch of the upon that treasure, that I had found a 
furious one. Moreover the white hel- 45 bountifully good distributor of jewels, 
met guarded his head, the helmet that and was in luck while my fortune lasted, 
was to plunge into the depths of the And do thou let Unferth have the ancient 
pool, to face buffeting waters, with all heir-loom, the curious damasked sword; 
its decoration of silver, encircled with let the far-famed man have Hardedge; 
princely wreathings, as a weapon-smith 50 I will with Hrunting achieve for myself 
in ancient days wrought it, wonderfully renown, or death shall take me.' 
executed it, set it round with boar fig- After these words the leed of the 
ures, so that never might brand nor war- Weder-Goths dashed bravely oft', would 
blades make any impression upon it. await no answer; — the eddying flood 

That moreover was not the least im- 55 engulfed the warrior. It was then a 
portant of helps to his valor, which main while of the day ere he could reach 
Hrothgar's orator lent to him at his' die country at the bottom. 



APPENDIX 



Soon was that perceived by the blood- was full of rage, sway his deadly adver- 
thirsty creature, grim and greedy, which sary so that she sank on the pavement, 
for a hundred seasons had kept the wa- The hag swiftly paid him back reprisal 
tery region, that one of the children of with fell grapplings, and closed in upon 
men was exploring from above the hab- 5 him : — then staggered he with spirits 
itation of goblins. It made a grab then exhausted, he the strongest of warriors, 
towards him ; it caught the brave man the champion-soldier, insomuch that he 
with grisly talons ; nevertheless it pierced fell prostrate. Then did the hag sit upon 
not to wound the wholeness of his body ; the visitant of her hall, and drew her 
ring-mail outside fenced him about, in- lo knife, broad and brown-edged; would 
somuch that the hag could not get revenge her bairn, her only offspring, 
through that jacket of service, well-knit About his shoulder lay the breast-net in- 
limb-sark, with its loathsome fingers, terlaced; that fenced his life; against 
Then did the she-wolf of the lake, when point and against edge it barred the en- 
she came to the bottom, bear the jeweled 15 trance. 

prince to her mansion, so that he had Then had the son o'f Ecgtheow, the 

no power at all — courage enough he had champion of the Goths, miscarried under 
• — to wield his weapons; but so many the vast profound, had not his campaign- 
monsters harassed him in swimming, ing byrnie, his hard war-net, afforded 
many a water-beast with hostile tusks 20 help ; — and holy God controlled the 
battered his war-sark, the brigands were victory, the Lord of providence, the 
in pursuit. heavenly Ruler, he determined it aright, 

Then did the eorl perceive that he and that with ease; — presently he again 
was in some strange abysmal hall, where stood erect on his feet, 
no water at all molested him, nor could 25 

the violence of the flood touch him, be- xxiii 

ing kept off by the roofed hall; firelight 

he saw, an eerie luster, shining bright, beowulf finishes the business, the 
Then the hero knew it was the she-wolf ^^^^^ s party give him \jv and go 

of the abyss, the mighty carHne of the 30 ^o^^- beowulf s comrades remain 
mere; -onset he delivered with slaugh- o^ the cliff, fidelity rewarded. 

ter-bill, his hand delayed not the stroke, ^n after-dinner surprise. 

so that about her head the costly blade Then saw he among the armor a mon- 

resounded a greedy war-song. Then did umental cutlass, an old eotenish sword, 
the visitor discover that the battle- 35 of edge effective, a trophy of warriors ; 
gleamer would not bite, not scathe life, — that was the very pride of weapons, 
but the edge failed the master at need; only then it was huger than any other 
it had in times past supported many en- man could bear to the battle-game; it 
counters, had often cleft helmet, war- was good and gallant, handiwork of 
harness of the doomed ; — that was the 40 giants. Then did he, the champion of 
first time for the honored treasure, that the Scyldings, grasp Fetelhilt; exasperate 
its fame broke down. Again he was for and greedy of fight he drew the jeweled 
action, in courage never faltering, mind- arm; despairing of his life, he smote in 
ful of exploits, Hygelac's kinsman. his fury; insomuch that the hard steel 
Away did the wrathful combatant then 45 caught her by the neck, broke through 
fling the damascened blade cunningly the bone-rings, the bill sped all through 
bedizened, insomuch that it lay along on the doomed flesh-jacket; — she dropped 
the earth, stark and steel-edged ; he on the pavement ; the sword was gory ; 
trusted to his strength, the hand-grip of the lad was fain of his work. 
his might. 50 The glimmer flashed up, light filled 

So it behooves a man to act, when he the place, even as when from heaven 
in battle thinks to attain enduring praise; serenely shmeth the candle of the firma- 

— he will not be caring about, his life. ment. He scanned the apartment with 
Then did the leed of the warlike Goths his eye, then took his way along by the 

— naught recked he of deadly peril— 55 wall; stubborn the thane of Hygelac 
seize Grendel's dam by the shoulder; swung his weapon aloft by the hilt, fierce 
then did the man valiant in fight, as he and aggressive. That blade was not 



BEOWULF 



flung away by the hero, but he was strange gobhn which had perished there 
forthwith minded to repay Grendel the in that habitation. 

many fatal assauUs he had wrought on Soon was he swimming, he who erst 

the West Danes oftener far than a single had strugglingly encountered the onset 
once, when he slew Hrothgar's hearth- 5 of furious beasts; up through the water 
comrades in their slumber; sleeping men he dived; the wave-depths were all puri- 
of the Danish folk he devoured fifteen, fied, spacious haunts ; now that the goblin 
and an equal number he conveyed away, had quitted life, and this transitory 
hideous spoil. He had paid him his scene. 

recompense for that, the furious cham- lo Then came he to land, the crown of 
pion had; insomuch that he now beheld the men from over the sea, bravely swim- 
him at rest, weary of war, even Grendel ming; — he exulted in his lake-spoil, in 
he saw lying, bereft of life, so deadly for the mighty burden which he had with 
him had erst the conflict at Heorot him. Then went they to meet him, they 
been. The carcass gaped wide, when it 15 thanked God, the valiant band of thanes, 
after death received the blow, the hard they rejoiced over their captain, for that 
sword-slash; then did he cut the head they had been so happy as to get sight 
from off him. of him whole and sound. Then was 

Forthwith was that perceived by the from the ardent hero his helmet and 
observant men who with Hrothgar were 20 byrnie promptly slackened : — sullenly the 
watching over the water, that the wave- mere subsided, water under welkin, dusk 
plash was all turbid, the surf was tinged with battle-gore. 

with blood: the men of grizzled locks. Forth thence they fared upon the 

the old men, spake together about the tracks of their (former) march, fain in 
brave man, how that they expected not 25 their souls, they passed over the country, 
the etheling back again, did not expect and along the pubUc highways; men of 
that he would come radiant with victory kingly courage bore the head-piece away 
to seek the illustrious prince; inasmuch from the mere-cliff, toilsomely for every 
as the more part were of opinion, that one of them: of the lusty and stalwart 
the she-wolf of the mere had torn him 30 fellows four were required to convey 
in pieces. with much ado on the gory pole the head 

Then came the ninth hour of the day. of Grendel to the gold-hall; (and so they 
The impetuous Scyldings quitted the went) till that unexpectedly to hall the 
blufT; the gold-friend of men took his brave adventurers arrived, fourteen of 
departure homeward thence. The for- 35 Goths marching; their captain withal, 
eigners sat fast, sick at heart, and upon glorious in their midst, trod the grounds 
the pool they gazed; they wished and did of the mead-hall. Then did the com- 
not expect, that they might ever get mander of the thanes proceed to enter, 
sight of their lord and captain in the deed-keen man, adorned with glory, war- 
body. 40 like hero, to accost Hrothgar: then was 

Then did that sword begin — under Grendel's head borne by the hair into 
spilth of blood in fearful clots — the the hall where men drank ; — startling 
war-bill began to waste away ; — that for the nobles and the lady withal ; a 
was a marvelous thing that it melted all visage indescribable did men behold, 
away; likest to ice when the Father dis- 45 

solveth the rigor of frost and unwind- xxiv ' 

eth the "ropes of the torrent, he who hath 

control of times and seasons ; that is the beowulf reports his experience to 
true Governor, hrothgar and gives him the won- 

The leed of the Weder-Goths tookso ^rous hilt which is examined and 
not of rare possessions in those halls— described, hrothgar s paternal dis- 
though he saw many there — aught more course, 

than the head, and with it the hilt that Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, uttered 

was metal-spangled; the sword had al- speech: ' Lo and behold! we unto .thee, 
ready melted away, the decorated 55 oh, son of Healfdene, leed of the Scyld- 
weapon had burnt up; — so fiercely hot ings, have joyfully brought these mere- 
was that blood, and so venomous the spoils which thou here lookest on, in 



XX APPENDIX 



token of achievement! Not easily did I Then did the wise son of Healfdene 

fight it through with life: in battle un- utter speech — all held their peace — : 
der water I had hardly faced out the ' That, lo ! may a man say, a man who 
task, well-nigh had the struggle failed, promoteth truth and right among folk, 
only that God shielded me. I could not 5 — he remembereth all long ago, the old 
in conflict accomplish aught with Hrunt- ■ housemaster — that this eorl was born 
ing, though that be a good weapon ; but superior ! The fame is spread through 
the Ruler of men vouchsafed to me that distant parts, my friend Beowulf, the 
I on the wall saw smilingly hanging an fame of thee over every nation. Withal 
old sword of huge size — oftenest hath lo thou dost carry it modestly thy prowess 
He guided men when they have no other with discretion of mind. I shall make 
friend — insomuch that I grasped at that good to thee my plighted love, according 
weapon. Then smote I in that campaign as was before said betwixt us two; 
— occasion favoring me — the keepers of thou art destined to prove a comfort sure 
the house. Then did that battle-bill con- 15 and lasting to thy leeds, a help to man- 
sume away, that twisted piece, by reason kind. 

of that blood which gushed forth, hot- ' Heremod did not prove so to the 

test of battle-gore; I brought away from descendants of Ecgwela, to the honorable 
the enemy that hilt as a trophy; I Scyldings; he waxed great not for their 
avenged the atrocities, the death-agony 20 pleasure, but for mortal fray and for 
of Danes, as it was meet. Accordingly death-blows to the Danish leeds ; he in his 
I promise it to thee that thou in Heorot ungoverned mood crushed his boon com- 
mayest sleep free from care with the panions, the squires of his body; until 
regiment of thy troopers; and so may that at last he wandered forth alone, the 
every thane of thy leeds, of the seniority 25 illustrious monarch, away from human 
and of the juniority, for that thou need- society; notwithstanding that the mighty 
est not on their account apprehend dan- God had with the attractions of strength, 
ger, O chief of Scyldings, in that quarter, with puissance, exalted him, promoted 
life-bale to warriors; as erewhile thou him, above all men. Nevertheless in his 
(ji(ist.' 30 soul there grew a blood-thirsty passion ; 

Then was the gilded hilt given to the —far was he from giving rings to the 
veteran soldier, the hoary leader in battle, Danes according to merit; he continued 
given into his hand, ancient workman- estranged from social joy, so that he 
ship of giants; it passed, after the de- suffered the penalty of that outrage in 
mons were quelled, into the possession 35 the settled disaffection of his people. 
of the prince of the Danes, a work of 'Do thou take warning by that; un- 

mystic smiths ; and so when the atrocious derstand the ornament of man ! It is 
creature, God's enemy, murder-crimi- about thee that I being old in years and 
nous, left this world, and his mother too, experience have told this tale, 
it went into the possession of the best 40 ' Wonderful it is to tell, how the mighty 
of worldly kings between the seas, of all God with large intelligence dispenses un- 
that even in Scania distributed wealth. derstanding to mankind, dispenses posi- 

Hrothgar uttered speech; — he sur- 'tion and prowess — he holds the disposi- 
veyed the hilt, the old relic; upon it was tion of all things. Sometimes he lets the 
written the origin of the primeval quar-45 purpose of a man of noble race turn 
rel, what time the flood, the rushing towards possession, he giveth to him 
ocean, destroyed the giant's brood; they earthly joy on his estate, to hold the 
got for themselves a bitter fate; that citadel of men, he assigns to him regions 
was a tribe estranged from the Eternal of the world so extensive, a realm so 
Captain, to them did the Ruler assign 50 wide, that he in his unwisdom is not able 
final retribution with whelming water, to carry his thought to the end of it; he 
Likewise on the mounting of sheer gold dwelleth in prosperity, not anything 
there was with rune-staves rightly in- annoys him, not sickness nor age nor 
scribed, set down, and said, for whom carking care darkens his spirits, no quar- 
that sword had erst been wrought, best 55 rel on any side, no feud appears; but all 
of steely fabrics, with wreathen hilt, and the world moves to his mind, he knows 
dragon ornament. not reverse. 



BEOWULF xxi 



XXV When lo ! in my ancestral seat there 
came a change over all that ; — distress 

THE CONCLUSION OF HROTHGAR s Dis- ^here mirth was before, as soon as 

COURSE. MORE FEASTING AND THEN Qrendel, the old adversary, became an 

CAME BED-TIME FOR WHICH THE HERO 5 i^.^ate of mine ; becausc of that visitation 

HAD HUGE DESIRE. BEOWULF SLEPT TILL J continually Carried great anxiety at 

THE VOICE OF THE BIRD PROCLAIMED heart. Thanks therefore be to the Gov- 

suNRiSE. PREPARING TO RETURN HOME ernor, the Eternal Captain, for that which 

HE RESTORES HRUNTING TO UNFERTH J have lived tO SCC, that I, the old tribu- 

COURTEOUSLY. • ^^ lation past, upon that severed, that bloody 

' Until at length within the man himself headpiece, with mine eyes do gaze ! 
something of arrogancy grows and devel- ' Go now to settle, share the festive 

ops ; then sleepeth the guardian, the joy, crowned with honors of war ! Thou 
soul's keeper; it is too fast that sleep, and I must have dealings together in 
awfully profound, the assassin is very i5 many many treasures, when to-morrow 
nigh, he who from his arrow-bow malig- comes.' 

nantly shooteth. Then is he, helmeted The Goth was glad of mood; he moved 
man, smitten in the breast with a bitter promptly off, drawing to settle, as the 
shaft: he cannot defend himself from the sapient king ordained him. Then was 
crooked exorbitant counsels of the 2° again as before, to the gallant warriors, 
damned sprite; he fancies that it is too to the company in hall, fair banquet 
little, all that he has so long enjoyed; served afresh. 

he is covetous, and malignant; glorieth Night's covering grew dim, dark over 

not in the pomp of bestowing gilded the banded men. Uprose all the seniors : 
decorations ; and he forgetteth the ulte- 25 — it was that the gray-haired king, the 
rior consequences; he too lightly con- venerable Scylding, was minded to draw 
siders how that God the Dispenser of to his bed. Vastly well did the Goth, the 
glory had erewhile given him the post illustrious warrior, like the thought of 
of dignity. Then at the end of the chap- repose; promptly was he, now weary of 
ter it returns to this, that the body 3° adventure, the man of far country, mar- 
shrunken falls away, the outgoing life shaled forth by the chamberlain, one who 
drops; — another fills his room, one who with meet ceremony supplied all the 
ungrudgingly distributes treasure, the wants of a gentleman, such things as in 
eorl's old accumulations; — timid pru- that day the lords of the main required 
dence he despises. 35 to have. 

' Guard thee against the fatal grudge, So the great-hearted hero rested him ; 

beloved Beowulf, youth most excellent; —high in air loomed the edifice, wide- 
and choose for thee the better course, spanning and gold-gleaming: — the 
enduring counsels ! incline not to arro- stranger slept within, until the black 
gancy, thou mighty champion ! Now is 40 raven announced heaven's glory with a 
thy strength in full bloom for one while ; blithe heart. Then came bright light 
eftsoons it will happen that sickness or striding over shadow; fiends scampered 
sword will bereave thee of puissance ; — off. The ethelings were ready dight to 
either clutch of fire or whelm of flood, fare back to their leeds; — the magnan- 
either assault of knife or flight of jave- 45 imous visitor was minded to take ship, 
■lin, either wretched eld or glance of eyes, for a voyage far away, 
will mar and darken all; without more Then did the hero bid the son of Ecg- 

ado it will come to pass that death will laf bear away Hrunting, bade him take 
subdue thee, thou captain of men ! his sword, beloved weapon ; said his 

' For example, I myself during fifty 5° thanks for the loan ; quoth that he 
years ruled beneath the welkin over the counted that war-mate a good one, war- 
jeweled Danes, and I by valor made them serviceable; with his words did not blame 
secure against many a nation throughout the faulchion's edge ; that was a high- 
this world with spears and swords, in- souled lad ! 

somuch that I had no apprehension of ^^ And when the departing warriors were 
any rival under the circuit of the sky. equipped in harness, the etheling honored 



APPENDIX 



by the Danes went up to the dais, where shall cease, the hostile surprises whence 
the other warlike hero was ; — he greeted they suffered erewhile ; — they shall be, 
Hrothgar. . while I rule the wide realm, a community 

of treasure : many friends shall greet one 

5 another with gifts across the bath of 

XXVI the gannet; the ringed ship shall bring 

over ocean presents and tokens of love. 

BEOWULF'S PARTING INTERVIEW WITH j j^j.^^ ^^e people to be equally as to- 

HROTHGAR WHO IS MOVED TO TEARS. ^^rds foe SO towards friend constant 

Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow, uttered 1° in mind, either way irreproachable, in 

speech: — 'Now we sea-voyagers wish to olden wise.' 

say, we who have come from far, that Then did the shelter of warriors, the 

we are purposing to go to Hygelac. son of Healfdene, further give into his 
Here we have been well entertained to possession twelve hoarded jewels; he 
our satisfaction ; thou hast been to us i5 bade him go with the presents, visit his 
very generous. If I therefore may by own people in comfort, and soon come 
any means upon earth undertake for thy back again. Then did the king of noble 
further gratification, O captain of men, ancestry, the chief of the Scyldings, kiss 
labors of war beyond what I have yet the incomparable thane and clasp him by 
done, I shall be ready promptly. If they 20 the neck; tears from him fell, the gray- 
bring me word over the circuit of the haired man; forecast was both ways to 
floods that neighbors press thee with the man of old experience, but one way 
alarm as whilom thy haters did, I will stronger than the other, namely, that they 
bring thee a thousand thanes, warriors might never meet again, proud men in the 
to help thee. I can undertake for Hyge- 25 assembly. To him the man was so dear, 
lac, captain of the Goths, young though that he could not restrain the passion of 
he be, shepherd of people, that he his breast, but deep in the affections of 
will forward me by words and by his soul a secret longing after the be- 
works, so that I may do high service to loved man stemmed the current of his 
thee, and for thy support bring a forest 30 blood. 

of spears, a mighty subsidy, when thou Beowulf, departing thence, a warrior 

shalt have need of men: — if moreover gold-bedight, trod the grassy earth con- 
Hrethric, princely child, is in treaty for scious of wealth: — the seagoer, which 
admission at the courts of the Goths, he was riding at anchor, awaited his owner 
may there find many friends ; foreign 35 and lord. Then upon the march was the 
countries are best visited by him who is liberality of Hrothgar often praised; that 
of high worth in himself.' was a king, every way without reproach ; 

Hrothgar bespake him in answer: until old age had bereft him of the 
'These considerate words hath the All- vantage of his prowess,— him who had 
wise Lord put into thy mind ; never 40 often been a terror to many, 
heard I a man so young in life speak 
more to purpose ; thou art strong in might 

and ripe in understanding; wise in dis- ^ xxvii 

course of speech I count it likely, if _ it .^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^p^^^, 

Cometh to pass that the spear, the grim 45 ^^^ demeanor, how beowulf recom- 
despatch of battle, taketh away Hrethels ^^^^^^ ^,^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ boat-warden/ 
offspring, if ailmg or iron take h thy ^^^ home-bound voyage. 

chieftain, the shepherd of the people, and 

thou hast thy life, that the sea-faring So the troop of gallant bachelors came 

Goths have not any thy better to choose 50 to the water ; they wore ring-armor, net- 
for king, for treasurer of warriors, if thou ted limb-sarks. The land warden ob- 
art willing to hold the realm of thy kins- served the return-march of the eorls, 
folk. To me thy disposition is well- just as he had done before; — not with 
liking more and more, beloved Beowulf; suspicion from the peak of the cliff did 
thou hast achieved, that the nations — 55 he greet the visitors, but he rode to- 
Gothic leeds and spear-bearing Danes — wards them ; he said to the leeds of the 
shall have mutual friendship, and strife Wederas that the bright-mailed explorers 



BEOWULF 



came welcome to their ships. Then was THE third part 

on the beach the roomy sea-boat laden 

with war-harness, the ring-prowed ship xxxii 

with horses and treasures ; the mast rose ^^^ ^^ happened that the man robbed 

high over wealth from Hrothgar s hoard. 5 ^he dragon's hoard, that treasure 

WAS ACCUMULATED STORE OF ANCIENT 
AND forgotten WARRIORS. THE DRAG- 
ON PREPARES REVENGE. THE BEGINNING 
OF THE FATAL WAR, 



He to the boat-warden presented a 
gold-bound sword insomuch that ever af- 
ter he was on the mead-bench the more 
worshipful by reason of that decoration, 
that sword of pedigree. 

[The Gothic captain with his band of Not of set purpose nor by his own 
warriors] betook him to ship, ploughing free choice had he visited the dragon's 
deep water; the Danes' land he quitted, hoard, he who brought sore trouble on 
Then was by the mast a manner of sea- himself; but for dire necessity had he, 
garment, a sail with sheet made fast ; the 15 the slave of some one or other of the 
sea-timber hummed. There did the wind sons of men, fled from outrageous stripes 
over the billows not baffle the wave-" a houseless wretch, and into that place 
floater of her course; the sea-goer had blundered like a man in guilty ter- 
marched, scudded with foamy throat for- ror. [Here four (or five) mutilated lines 
ward over the swell, with gorgeous prow 20 seem to say that the fugitive, though 
over the briny currents, till they were quickly horror-struck at his new danger, 
able to espy the Gothic cliffs, familiar still by the impetus of despair borne for- 
headlands. The keel grated up ashore, ward had espied a cup of precious metal.'] 
with way on her from the wind; she There was a quantity of such things in 
stood on land. Quickly was the hithe- ^S that earth-cavern, ancient acquisitions ; 
warden ready at the strand, he who al- just as some unknown man in days of 
ready for a long time expectant at the yore had in pensive thought hidden them 
water's edge had eyed the craft of the there, the prodigious legacy of a noble 
beloved men ; he bound to the shore race, treasures of worth. Death had car- 
the wide-bosomed ship with anchor-cables 30 ried them all off previously, and that 
fast, lest the violence of the waves might solitary one then of the proud company 
snatch the winsome craft away from who had there longest kept afoot, a 
them. possessor mourning lost friends, would 

fain survive, if only that he might for a 

* * * 35 little space enjoy the long-accumulated 

wealth. 

A barrow already existed on the down, 
XXXI nigh by the waves, sheer over the cliff, 

cunningly secured ; therein did the owner 
BEOWULF COMES TO THE THRONE. 40 „£ ^ings carry a ponderous quantity of 

* * * beaten gold : a few words he spake : 

' Hold thou now, O earth, now that the 
Consequently the broad realm came to heroes could not, the possessions of 
the hand of Beowulf ; he governed well mighty men. Lo ! in thee at first the 
fifty-winters — that was a venerable king, 45 brave men found it ; a violent death car- 
an ethel-warden — until one began in ried them away, a fearful slaughter car- 
dark nights, even a dragon, to have ried off every one of the men, my peers, 
mastery; one that on a high heath kept a who surrendered this life; they attained 
hoard, a steep stone-castle; a path lay be- the joy of the (supernal) hall. Not one 
neath, unfrequented by people. There- 5° have I to wear a sword, or furbish the 
within had gone some man or other, bossy tankard, the precious drink-stoup; 
[deftly] he took of the heathen hoard, the valiant are departed otherwhere, 
[took a thing] glistening with precious Now must the hard helmet, damascened 
metal; — that he afterwards [rued], that with gold, shed its intayled foliations; the 
he had tricked the horrid keeper while 55 furbishers sleep, they whose task it was to 
sleeping, with thievish dexterity . . . keep the masks of war; hkewise the 
that he was infuriate. war-coat which in battle and through 



xxiv APPENDIX 



the crash of shields was proof against the evening came ; so enraged was the master 
bite of swords, shall molder like the of the barrow, the malignant one designed 
warrior. No longer can the ringed mail with fire to revenge the loss of the pre- 
along with the war-chief widely travel cious tankard. Presently the day was 
by the hero's side ; — no delight of harp, 5 gone, the worm had his will ; no longer 
no joy of gleewood, no good hawk swing- would he bide in fenced wall, but he issued 
ing through the hall, no swift horse forth with burning, equipped with fire, 
tramping in the castle-court. Destructive The commencement of it was frightful 
death hath sent many generations far to the people in the country; likewise it 
away.' Thus did he with sorrowful heart 10 speedily had a sore ending upon their 
lament his unhappiness, sole survivor of benefactor, 
all he sadly wept, by day and by night, 

until that death's ripple touched at his xxxiii 

heart. , 

The dazzling hoard was found open 15 ^^^ dragons devastation, the king's 
standing by the old pest of twilight, the mansion burnt, beowulf s proud re- 

flaming one that haunteth barrows, the ' ^o^^^ ^o fight the dragon single- 
scaly spiteful dragon, that flieth by night, handed. 

surrounded with fire, whom country-folk Then the monster began to spirt fire- 

hold in awful dread. His portion is to 20 gleeds, to burn the cheerful farmsteads; 
resort to the hoard under ground, where the flame-light glared aloft, in defiance of 
he with winters aged shall guard heathen man; the hostile air-flyer would leave 
gold; he will be no whit the better for nothing there alive. The war-craft of the 
it. So had that wide-ravager for three worm was manifest in all parts; the rage 
hundred winters held in the earth an 25 of the deadly foe was seen far and near ; 
enormous treasure-house, until that one hov/ the ravaging invader hated and 
angered him, a man angered his mood; ruined the Gothic people; to his hoard he 
— to his chieftain the man bore a tank- shot back again, to his dark mansion, 
ard bossed with gold, and prayed his lord before the hour of day. He had encom- 
for a covenant of peace. Then was the 30 passed the landfolk with flame, with fire 
hoard rifled, quantity of jewels carried and conflagration ; he trusted in his moun- 
off; the friendless man had his petition tain, his war-craft and his rampart; that 
granted. The lord contemplated men's confidence deceived him. 
ancient work for the first time. Then was the crushing news reported 

When the worm woke, the quarrel was 35 to Beowulf with swiftness and certainty, 
begun; forthwith he sniffed the scent that his own mansion, best of buildings, 
along the rock; the marble-hearted one was melting away in fiery eddies, even the 
found the enemy's track; — he had gift-seat of the Goths. That was to the 
stepped forth abroad with undetected goodman a rude experience in his breast, 
craft, hard by the dragon's head. So may 40 hugest of heart-griefs ; the wise man felt 
that man who retains the fealty of the as if he should, in despite of venerable 
Supreme, elude death and freely escape law, break out against Providence, against 
both harm and pursuit. The hoard-keeper the Eternal Lord, with bitter outrage ; his 
sought diligently over the ground, he breast within him surged with murky 
wanted to find the man, the man who had 45 thoughts, in a manner unwonted with him. 
wrought him mischief in his sleep; fiery The fire-drake had desolated the strong- 
and in raging mood he often swung hold of the nobles, the sea-board front, 
around the mound, all out round about; that enclosed pale, with fiery missiles, 
there was not any man there in that For him therefore the war-king, the lord 
desert waste. Nevertheless he exulted in 50 of the Storm-folk, studied revenge. He 
purpose of battle, of bloody work; at in- gave orders, that they should make for 
tervals he would dash back into the him, the shelter of warriors, the captain 
barrow, would seek the costly vessel; of knights, wholly of iron, a war-shield, 
presently he had satisfied himself of that, a master-piece; he knew assuredly, that 
that some one of manfolk had invaded 55 forest-timber would not serve him, linden- 
the gold, the mighty treasures. The wood against flame! Destined he was, 
hoard-keeper waited with difficulty until the prince of proved valor, to meet the 



BEOWULF 



end of his allotted days, of his worldly gold, or else war carrieth, pitiless life-bale 
life; — and the worm (was to die) at the carrieth away your lord! ' 
same time, long though he had held the Up rose then by the brink the resolute 

hoarded wealth. warrior, stern under his helmet, he wore 

Then did he, of rings the patron, think 5 battle-sark among rugged cliffs, he trusted 
it scorn that he should go seek the wide- the strength of his single manhood; such 
flyer with a band, with a large host; he is not the way of a craven. Then he be- 
had no fear of the encounter for him- held near the rampart — he who, excellent 
self, nor did the worm's war-craft at all in accomplishments, had survived a great 
subdue his puissance and enterprise ; for- lo number of wars, of battle-clashes, when 
asmuch as he whilere, in shrewd jeopardy, armed men close — beheld where stood a 
had carried him safe through many a con- rocky arch, and out of it a stream break- 
test, many a battle-clash, since the time ing from the barrow, the surface of that 
that he, a victorious boy, had purged burn was steaming hot with cruel fire; 
Hrothgar's hall, and with battle-grip had 15 nigh to the hoard could not the hero un- 
done for Grendel's kinsfolk, a loathsome scorched any while survive for the flame 
brood. of the dragon. 

* * * Then did the prince of the Storm- 

Goths, being elate with rage, let forth 
XXXV 20 word out of his breast, the strong-hearted 

stormed; the shout penetrated within (the 

FURTHER DISCOURSES OF BEOWULF. HE cavcrn), vibrating clear as a battle-cry, 

GIVES A GREAT SHOUT AND THE DRAGON under the hoary rock. Fury was stirred; 

COMES FORTH. THE FIGHT BEGINS ; BEO- the hoard-wardcr recognized speech of 

WULF IN DISTRESS. 25 man ; opportunity was there no more, to 

* * * stickle for terms of peace. In advance 
Beowulf uttered speech, with boastful first of all there came the reeking breath 

words he spake, for the last time : ' I of the monster, out from the rock, a hot 
hazarded many wars in youth; yet again jet of defiance; the ground trembled, 
will I, the aged keeper of the folk, seek 30 The warrior under the barrow side, the 
strife, and do famously; if the fell rav- Gothic captain, swung his mighty shield 
ager out of his earthen dome will come agamst the hideous customer; therewithal 
forth to meet me.' Then did he address was the heart of the ringy worm incited 
a word of greeting to each of his men, to seek battle. Already the brave war- 
the keen helm-wearers, for the last time, 35 king had drawn sword, ancient heirloom 
his own familiar comrades. *I would not ^i speedy edge; each of the belligerents 
bear sword or weapon to meet the worm, l^ad a dread of the other. Resolute in 
if I knew hov/ I might otherwise main- niind the prince of friends took stand 
tain my vaunt against the monster, as I well up to his hoised shield, while the 
formerly did against Grendel. But there 40 worm buckled suddenly in a bow ; — he 
I expect fire, deadly scorching, blast and stood to his weapons, 
venom; for that reason I have upon me Then did the flaming foe, curved like 

shield and byrnie. I will not flee away an arch, advance upon him with headlong 
from the keeper of the mountain, no, not shuffle. The shield eft'ectually protected 
a foot space; but it shall be decided be- 45 life and limb a less while for the glorious 
tween us two on this rampart, as Wyrd chieftain than his sanguine hope ex- 
allots us, (and) the Governor of every pected, supposing he, that time, early in 
man. I am in spirit so eager for action, the morning, was to achieve glory in the 
that I cut short bragging against the strife; — so had Wyrd not ordained it. 
wingy warrior. Await ye on the moun- 50 Up swung he his hand, the Gothic captain, 
tain, with your byrnies about you, men- he smote the spotted horror with the 
at-ariTis, to see which of us twain may mighty heirloom, that its brown edge 
after deadly tussle best be able to survive turned upon the bony crust; less effec- 
his hurt. That is not your mission, nor tually bit than was required by the king's 
any man's task save mine alone, that he 55 need, who was sorely pressed. Then was 
try strength against the monster, achieve the keeper of the barrow after that 
heroism. I must with daring conquer shrewd assault furious with rage, cast 



xxvi APPENDIX 



forth devouring fire, the deadly sparks Goths armor untold of every sort; allei 
sprang every way: the gold-friend of the which he departed out of life, ripe foi 
Goths plumed him not on strokes of the parting journey. 

vantage; the war-bill had failed him with Now this was the first adventure for 

its bared edge on the foe, as it had not 5 the young champion wherein he had with 
been expected to do, metal of old renown. his liege lord to enterprise the risk of 
That was no light experience, inducing war; his courage did not melt in him, 
the mighty son of Ecgtheow to relinquish nor did his kinsman's heirloom prove 
that emprise; he must consent to inhabit weak in the conflict; a fact which the 
a dwelling otherwhere ; — so must every lo worm experienced, as soon as they had 
man resign allotted days. • come to close quarters. 

Then was it not long until the com- Wiglaf discoursed much that was fit- 

batants closed again. The hoard-warder ting; he said to his comrades that his 
rallied his courage, out of his breast shot soul was sad: — 'I recall the time, when 
steam, as beginning again; — direly suf- 15 we enjoyed the mead, then did we promise 
fering, encompassed with fire, was he who our lord in the festive hall, to him who 
erewhile had ruled men. Not (alas!) in gave us rings, that we would repay him 
a band did his life-guardsmen, sons of the war-harness, if any need of this kind 
ethelings, stand about him with war-cus- should befall him, would repay him for 
tom of comrades ; no, to the wood they 20 helmets and tempered swords. That is 
slunk, to shelter life. In one only of why he chose us of his host for this ad- 
them did his soul surge in a tumult of venture by his own preference, reminded 
grief; — kindred may never be diverted us of glory and promised rewards, be- 
from duty, for the man who is rightly cause he counted us brave warriors, keen 
minded. • 25 helm-wearers ; although our lord had de- 

signed single-handed to accomplish this 
XXXVI mighty work, the shepherd of his people, 

forasmuch as he of all men had achieved 
BEOWULF HAD ONE FAITHFUL FOLLOv/ER IN n^Qgt of famous exploits, of desperate 
THE DESPERATE STRUGGLE. HIS FATAL 30 ^eeds. Now is the day come, that our 
WOUND. liege lord behooves the strength of brave 

Wiglaf was his name, Weohstan's son, warriors; let us go to him, help our war- 
a beloved warrior, a leed of the Scylfings, chief, while the scorching heat is on him, 
a kinsman of ^Elfhere: he beheld his liege- the grim fiery terror ! God knows of me, 
lord under helmet, distressed by the heat. 35 that I had much liever the flame should 
Then did he remember the (territorial) swallow my body with my gold-giver, 
honor which he (Beowulf) had formerly Me thinketh it indecent, that we bear our 
given him, the well-stocked homestead of shields back to our home, unless we can 
the WEegmundings, every political pre- first quell the foe, and rescue the life of 
rogative which his father had enjoyed; 40 the Storm- folk's ruler. I know well those 
then could he not refrain; hand grasped were not the old habits of service, that 
shield, yellow hnden, drew the old sword, he alone of the Gothic nobles should bear 
known among men as the relic of Ean- the brunt, should sink in fight; our sover- 
mund, son of Ohthere, whom, when a eign must be requited for sword and 
lordless exile, Weohstan had slain, in fair 45 helm, byrnie and stately uniform, and so 
fight, with weapon's edge; and from his he shall by me, though a common death 
kindred had carried off the brown-mottled take us. both,' 

helmet, ringed byrnie, old mysterious Then he sped through the deadly reek, 

sword; which Onela yielded to him, his he came with helm on head to his lord's 
nephew's war-harness, accoutrement com- 50 assistance ; few words spake he : * My 
plete ; not a word spake he (Onela) about liege Beowulf, now make good all that 
the feud, although he (Weohstan) had which thou once saidst in time of youth, 
killed his brother's son. He (Weohstan) that thou never by thy lifetime wouldest 
retained the spoils many years, bill and let thy glory decline ; now must thoU; 
byrnie, until when his boy was able to 55 glorious in deeds, etheling impetuous, 
claim warrior's rank, like his father be- with all thy might defend life ; I shall 
fore him; then gave he to him before the support thee to the utmost.' 



BEOWULF 



After these words were spoken, the middle. They had quelled the foe, death- 
worm came on in fury, the fell malignant daring prowess had executed revenge, 
monster came on for the second time, and they two together, cousin ethelings, 
with fire-jets flashing, to engage his had destroyed him; — such should a fel- 
enemies, hated men; with the waves of 5 low be, a thane at need. To the chieftain 
flame the shield was consumed all up to that was the supreme triumphal hour of 
the boss; the mail-coat could not render his career — by his own deeds — of his 
assistance to the young warrior; but the life's completed work, 
young stripling valorously went forward Then began the wound which the earth- 

under his kinsman's shield when his own lo dragon had just now inflicted on him, to 
was reduced to ashes by the gleeds. inflame and swell. That he soon discov- 
Then once more the warlike king remem- ered, that in his breast fatal mischief was 
bered glory, remembered his forceful working, venom in the inward parts, 
strength, so smote with battle-bill that it Then the etheling went until he sat him 
stood in the monster's head, desperately 15 on a stone by the mound, thoughtfully 
impelled. Nsegling flew in splinters, Beo- pondering ; he looked upon the cunning 
wulf's sword betrayed him in battle, work of dwarfs, how there the world-old 
though old and monumental gray. To earth-dome do contain within it stone 
him was it not granted that edges of iron arches firmly set upon piers. Upon him 
should help him in fight; too strong was 20 then, gory from conflict, illustrious mon^ 
the hand of the man who with his stroke arch, the thane immeasurably good, ladled 
overtaxed (as I have heard say) all water with hand upon his natural chief- 
swords whatsoever ; so that when he car- tain, battle-worn ; — and unloosened his 
ried to conflict a weapon preternaturally helmet. Beowulf discoursed — in spite of 
hard, he was none the better for it. 25 ^jg h^irt he spake, his deadly exhausting 

Then for the third time was the mon- wound; he knew well that he had spent 
strous ravager, the infuriated fire-drake, his hours, his enjoyment of earth; surely 
roused to vengeance; he rushed on the all was gone of the tale of his days, 
heroic man, as he had yielded ground, death immediately nigh —' Now I would 
fiery and destructive, his entire neck he 30 have given my war-weeds to my son, had 
enclosed with lacerating teeth; he was it so been that any heir had been given 
bloodied over with the vital stream ; gore to come after me, born of my body. I 
surged forth m waves. have ruled this people fifty winters ; — 

there was not the king, not any king of 
XXXVII 35 those neighboring peoples, who dared to 

greet me with war-mates, to menace with 
THE DRAGON SLAIN. BEOWULF IN MORTAL t^j-ror. I in my habitation observed so- 
AGONY. f.1^1 obligations, I held my own with jus- 

Then I heard tell how, in the glorious tice, I have not sought-' insidious quarrels, 
king's extremity, the young noble put 4° nor have I sworn many false oaths. Con- 
forth exemplary prowess of force and sidering all this, I am able, though sick 
daring, as was his nature to ; he regarded vi^ith deadly wounds, to have comfort ; 
not that (formidable) head, but the forasmuch as the Ruler of men cannot 
valiant man's hand was scorched, while charge me with murder-bale of kinsmen, 
he helped his kinsman, insomuch that he 45 when my life quitteth the body, 
smote the fell creature a little lower down, ' Now quickly go thou, to examine the 

the man-at-arms did, with such effect that treasure, under the hoary rock, beloved 
the sword penetrated, the chased and Wiglaf, now the worm lieth dead, sleep- 
gilded .sword, yea, with such effect that eth sore wounded, of riches bereaved, 
the fire began to subside from that mo- 5° Be now on the alert, that I may ascertain 
ment. the ancient wealth, the golden property, 

Then, once more the beloved king re- may fully survey the brilliant, the curi- 
covered his senses, drew the war-knife, ous gems; that I may be able the more 
biting and battle-sharp, which he wore contentedly, after (seeing) the treasured 
on his mail-coat; the crowned head of the 55 store, to resign my life, and the lordship 
Storm-folk gashed the worm in the which I long have held.' 



xxviii APPENDIX 

XXXVIII treasures of his breast. Beowulf dis- 

coursed, the old man in pain, he con- 
BEOWULF IS GRATIFIED WITH SEEING THE templated the gold: ' I do Utter a 
TREASURES. HE DEMISES THE CROWN thanksgiving to fhe Lord of all, to the 
AND DIES. 5 l^ij^g Qf glory, to the eternal captain, for 

Then I heard tell how the son of those spoils upon which I here do gaze ; 
Weohstan after the injunction promptly to think that I have been permitted to 
obeyed his wounded death-sick lord; bore acquire such for my leeds before the day 
his ring-mail, linked war-sark, under the of my death. Now I have sold my ex- 
roof of the barrow. Then the victorious ^o piring life-term for a hoard of treasure; 
youth, as he went along by the stony ye now shall provide for the requirements 
bench, the true and courageous thane, be- of the leeds; I cannot be any longer 
held many jewels of value, gold glisten- here. Order my brave warriors to erect 
ing, indenting the ground, wondrous a lofty cairn after the bale-fire, at the 
things in the barrow; — and the lair of 15 headland over the sea; it shall tower 
the worm, the old dawn-flyer — vases aloft on Hronesness for a memorial to 
standing, choice vessels of men of old, my leeds, that sea-faring men in time to 
with none to burnish them, — their in- come may call it Beowulf's Barrow, those 
crustations fallen away. There was who on distant voyages drive their foamy 
many a helmet, old and rusty, many a 20 barks over the scowling floods.' 
bracelet, with appendage of trinkets. The brave-hearted monarch took off 

Treasure may easily, gold in the earth, from his neck the golden collar and gave 
may easily make a fool of any man ; it to the thane, to the young spear-fighter, 
heed it who will! Likewise he saw his gold-hued helmet, coronet, and byrnie; 
looming above the hoard a banner all 25 bade him brook them well : ' Thou art 
golden, greatest marvel of handiwork, the last remnant of our stock, of the 
woven with arts of incantation; out of Waegmundings ; Fate has swept all my 
it there stood forth a gleam of light, in- kinsmen away into eternity, princes in 
somuch that he was able to discern the chivalry; I must after them.' 
surface of the floor, and survey the 30 That was the aged man's latest word, 
strange curiosities. Of the worm there from the meditations of his breast, be- 
was not any appearance, but the knife fore he chose the bale-fire, the hot con- 
had put him out of the way. suming flames ; — out of his bosom the 
Then heard I how in the chambered soul _ departed, to enter into the lot of 
mound the old work of dwarfs was spoiled 35 the just, 
by a single man, how he gathered into 

his lap cups and platters at his own dis- xxxix 

cretion ; the banner also he took, the most 

brilliant of ensigns; the sword with its ^ brief review of the situation, wig- 
iron edge had even now despatched the 40 laf upbraids the recreant compan- 
old proprietor, the one who had been the ions, he pronounces upon them and 

possessor of these treasures for a long their kin a sentence of degradation. 
while; a hot and flaming terror he had Thus had a hard experience overtaken 

waged for the hoard, gushing with de- the niexpenenced youth, that he saw 
struction at midnights ; until he died the 45 upon the ground the man who was dear- 
(jgjjth ^^t to him at his life's end in a helpless 

Thi messenger was in haste, eager to condhion. His destroyer Hkewise lay 
return, fraught with spoils ; painfully he dead, the horrible earth-dragon, bereft of 
wondered in his brave soul whether he I'fe, crushed in ruin; no longer was the 
should find aUve the prince of the Storm- 50 coiled worm to be lord of the jewel- 
folk, on the open ground where he left treasures, but they had been wrested 
him erst, chivalrously dying. He then from him with weapons of iron, hard 
bearing the treasures, found the illustri- battle-sharp relics of hammers, msomuch 
ous king, his captain, bleeding from his that the wide-flyer tamed by wounds had 
wounds, at the extremity of life; he be- 55 fallen on earth nigh to tlie hoard-cham- 
gan again to sprinkle him with water, ber; no more through the regions of air 
until the point of speech forced open the did he sportively whirl at midnights, and 



BEOWULF xxix 



elate over his treasured property, dis- proof. Little protection could I afford 
play his presence ; but on earth he col- him in the conliict, and I attempted 
lapsed, through mighty hand of warrior- nevertheless what was beyond my ability, 
prince. to help my kinsman; — ever was he (the 

Howbeit, that has rarely in the world 5 dragon) the feebler, when I with sword 
prospered with men, even men of fame, smote the destroyer, the fire less violently 
— by my information, — daring though a gushed from his inwards. Defenders too 
man might be in all deeds whatsoever ; few pressed round their prince, when 
that he should rush against the breath the dire moment overtook him. Now 
of the poisonous destroyer, or with hands lo must (all) sharing of treasure, and pres- 
molest the ring-hall, if he found the entation of swords, all patrimonial 
keeper waking, at home in the barrow, wealth and estate, escheat from your 
Beowulf had purchased the gain of kin; every man of that family may roam 
princely treasures with his death ; he had destitute of land-right, as soon as ethel- 
howsoever reached the end of transitory 15 ings at a distance are informed of your 
life. desertion, your ignominious conduct. 

Then was it not long until the war- Death is preferable, for every warrior, 
laggards quitted the wood, the faint- rather than a life of infamy.' 
hearted traitors, ten all together, those 

who whilere durst not sport their lances 20 XL 

in the great need of their liege lord ; but 

they in shame bore their shields, their anxNOUncement of the event to the 
war-weeds, to the place where the aged ^"^^^^^° ^^ost. the envoy adds a dis- 

warrior lay dead; — they looked upon course reviewing the situation. 
Wiglaf] 25 Orders gave he then to announce the 

He sat wearied out, the active cham- issue of the conflict to the camp up over 
pion, nigh his lord's shoulder; was re- the seacliff, where the host of eorls, from 
freshing him with water; his care morning all day long, had with anxious 
availed nothing; he could not retain upon hearts sat by their shields, in divided 
earth, well as he would have wished it, 30 anticipation between a fatal day and the 
that chieftain's life; nor turn the Al- return of the beloved man. Little ret- 
mighty's will; the dispensation of God icent was he of the latest tidings, he 
would take effect upon men of all con- who rode up the bluff; he truthfully 
ditions, just as it does at present. Then spake out in the hearing of all: 'Now is 
had the young man a grim answer 35 the bounteous chief of the leeds of the 
promptly ready for such as erst had Stormfolk, the captain of the Goths, 
failed in courage. Wiglaf discoursed, motionless on bed of death, he dwells in 
Weohstan's son; the youth with sorrow- war-like repose by the deeds of the 
ful heart looked upon men whom he no worm ! with him in even case lieth his 
longer loved : 4° mortal antagonist, smitten with dirk- 

' That, look you, may a man say, a wounds : — with sword he could not upon 
man who is minded to speak the truth, the monster by any means effect a wound, 
that the chieftain who gave you those Over Beowulf sitteth Wiglaf, Weohstan's 
decorations, military apparel, which ye - boy, a living eorl over a dead; over his 
there stand itpright in, — when he at ale- unconscious head he holdeth guard 
bench often presented to inmates of his against friend and foe. 
hall helmet and byrnie, as a prince to ' Now the leeds may expect a time of 
thanes, of such make as he far or near war, as soon as the king's fall is pub- 
could procure most trusty — that he -^ lished abroad among Franks and Fris- 
utterly threw away those war-weeds ians. The obstinate quarrel with the 
miserably. When stress of battle over- Hugas was set up when Hygelac came 
took him, the folk-king had by no means with embarked army tipon the Frisian 
cause to boast of his companions-in-arms ; land, where the Hetware in battle van- 
nevertheless it was accorded to him by55quished him; resolutely they struck with 
God, the ordainer of victories, that he overwhelming force, insomuch that the 
avenged himself single-handed with his mailed warrior was compelled to bow his 
weapon, when his valor was put to the head; he fell among the fighting men: 



XXX APPENDIX 



far was he from givitig spoils as chief- leeds; the banners of Hygelac moved 
tain to his veterans ; — to us ever since forward over that peaceful plain, and 
that time has the favor of the Merwing presently the Hrethlings massed them- 
been unaccorded. selves upon the garrison. Then was 

' Nor do I anywise count upon peace S Ongentheow, the gray-haired, driven to 
or good understanding on the side of bay with sword-edges, insomuch that the 
Sweden ; — indeed, it was a far-famed mighty king was constrained to put up 
story, how that Ongentheow slew Haeth- with the one-handed decision of Eofor. 
eyn the son of Hrethel, by Ravenswood, Him (Ongentheow) had Wulf, son of 
v/henas the warlike Scylfings had been lo Wonred, fiercely attacked with weapon, 
the first to invade for sheer insolence the so effectually, that with the stroke his 
people of the Goths. Promptly did the blood flew from his veins out from im- 
veteran, the father of Ohthere, old and der his hair. He was not daunted, how- 
awful, deliver his onslaught, demolished ever, the aged Scylfing; but he quickly 
the sea-king (H^ethcyn), rescued his con- 15 repaid that deadly assault with worse 
sort, the aged man rescued the wife of barter, as soon as the mighty king had 
his youth, though plundered of her jew- collected himself. The brisk son of 
els, the mother of Onela and of Ohthere, Wonred failed to give counter-blow to 
and then pursued his deadly foes, until the old veteran, but he (Ongentheow) 
they got away, with great difficulty, into 20 had first shorn the helmet on his head, 
Ravensholt, bereaved of their lord. Then so that blood-sprinkled he was forced 
did he, with host drawn out, surround to bow, he fell on the ground; — he was 
those whom the sword had left, men ex- not at that time death-doomed as yet, but 
hausted with wounds, he repeatedly he recovered from it, though the wound 
threatened woe to the poor band all the 25 had touched him close. Then did Hy- 
livelong night: he said that in the morn- gelac's valiant thane let his broad blade, 
ing he would reach them with the edge gigantesque old sword, his dwarf- 
of the sword, and (hang) some on gal- wrought helmet, break over the shield- 
low-trees to please the birds. wall; then crouched the king, the people's 
* Courage at length returned to the de- 30 shepherd, he was fatally smitten. Then 
jected men with dawn of day, when they were there many who bound up his 
heard Hygelac's horn, and the sound of brother's wounds (of Wulf the brother 
his trumpet ; presently the brave (prince) of Eofor), who quickly raised him up, 
came marching upon their track with the when they had got the ground cleared, 
best of his leeds. 35 so that they had command of the place 

of battle. Meanwhile warrior stripped 
xLi warrior; he (Eofor) captured on Ongen- 

theow the iron breast-mail, his hard 
CONCLUSION OF THE envoy's DISCOURSE, gword with hilt, and his helmet likewise, 
THE BATTALION VISITS THE SCENE OF ^q the gray-beard's accoutrements ; — to 
THE SUPREME CONFLICT. Hygclac he bare them. He accepted the 

'Then was the gory track of Swedes spoils, and made him a fair promise of 
and Goths, the deadly strife of men, rewards before his leeds, and he kept his 
widely conspicuous, how the folk on word; he, the lord of the Goths, the son 
either side revived the feud. Then did 45 of Hrethel, when he arrived at his man- 
the valiant man proceed with his com- sion, repaid Eofor and Wulf for that 
rades, the solemn veteran, to seek a war-brunt, with treasure extraordinary; 
place of strength ; the warrior Ongen- he gave to each of them a hundred thou- 
theow turned towards the hill; he had sand of land and collars of filigree; none 
heard tell of the warfare of Hygelac, the So could jeer at them for those rewards, 
war-craft of the valiant; he trusted not not a man in the world, since they had 
in resistance, that he could defy the sea- achieved those exploits; — and moreover 
men, the travelers of the deep, could he bestowed upon Eofor, his only daugh- 
protect his treasure, his children, and his ter, to make his home honorable, and 
wife; so he retired back therefrom, the 55 for a pledge of loyalty, 
old king retired behind the earth-wall. ' Such is the feud and the enmity and 

Then was chase given to the Swedish the deadly grudge of the men, even the; 



BEOWULF xxxi 



Swedish leeds, who, as I apprehend, will there dishes lay about, and swords of 
attack us, as soon as they shall learn price, rusty and corroded, as if they in 
that our prince is dead, he who whilere earth's lap a thousand winters there had 
hath upheld against hostihties, our treas- sojourned; forasmuch as that patrimony, 
ure and our realm, was master of public 5 huge and vast, that gold of ancient men, 
counsel, or won ever-increasing glory in had been closed about with enchantment; 
war. Now is quickness best, that we and therefore that treasure-chamber 
should there look upon the mighty king, might not be touched by any one of man- 
and bring him who gave us bracelets, on kind, save in so far as God himself, the 
to the funeral-pile. It is not meet that lo true king of achievements, should grant 
some trifling matter be consumed with to the man of his choice to open the 
the high-souled man ; but yonder is a hoard, the sorcerers' hold : — even to 
hoard of precious things, gold uncounted, such one of mankind whomso he deemed 
frightfully bargained for, and now at to be meet, 
last jewels purchased with the hero's own 15 

life; those must fire devour, the flame xlii 

must enfold them; never a warrior wear 

ornament for memorial, nor maiden sheen Reflections upon the great event. 
have on her neck the decorated collar, but wiglaf publishes beowulf's dying 
on the contrary must in dejected mood 20 orders, preparations for the bale- 
and stripped of gold ornaments tread ^^^^' the cavern is rifled and the 
often and often the land of the stranger, treasures are piled on a wagon to 

now the army leader hath laid aside follow the bier, the last of the 
laughter, game, and glee. Therefore dragon. 

shall many a spear in the cold of th^ 25 Then was it manifest, that good luck 
morning be clutched in men's grasp, attended not upon the course of them 
hoisted in the hand; no swough of harp who by unlawful means had closely safe- 
shall waken the warriors: but the bleak guarded valuables under the mound. At 
raven fluttering over carnage shall chat- first the keeper slew one here and there; 
ter abundantly, recount to the eagle of 30 at length the feud had grown to be ex- 
his luck at the spread, while alongside piated furiously. By a heroic death 
of the wolf he stripped the slain.' therefore in some manner should a brave 

Thus was the ardent youth discoursing warrior accomplish the end of life's rec- 
of painful themes; he erred not widely ord, seeing that he cannot much longer 
of events or words. All the troop arose, 35 as a man in the midst of his kinsfolk 
they went unjoyous, under the Eagle's inhabit the mead-hall. Such was Beo- 
Crag, with gushing tears, to behold the wulf's lot, when he went forth to seek 
tremendous sight. They found there, on the keeper of the barrow, went to seek 
the sand, bereft of life, and keeping his deadly strife, he himself knew not by 
helpless bed, the man who had given 40 what means his severance from the 
them rings in times bygone; there had world was destined to happen, according 
the final day come to the valiant, in that as the mighty captains, when they that 
the warlike king, the prince of the Wed- deposited there, had uttered a deep spell 
eras, had perished with a death heroic. to hold till doomsday, that the man who 

. . . never saw they frightfuller 45 invaded that ground should be criminally 
object — the dragon on the ground there guilty, cabined in heathen fanes, fast 
right before their face, the loathsome bound with hell-bands, penally doomed; 
beast lying dead; all scorched with yet never did he at any previous time 
flames was the fire-drake, the grisly more effectually experience the gold-be- 
gruesome pest ; it was fifty foot-measure- 5o stowing favor of God. 
ments long where it lay; in the pride of Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, lifted up his 

the air he had been supreme during the voice : ' Often must many a brave man, 
hours of night, and then down would he by the will of one, endure tribulation, as 
return back again to reconnoitre his lair: it hath happened to us. We were not 
. — now he was there stock dead, had 55 able to convince our beloved master, the 
made his last use of earthly caverns. shepherd of the kingdom, by any rea- 
By the side of it stood pots and bowls; soning, that he should not challenge yon 



XXXI 1 



APPENDIX 



gold-warden, but should leave him to lie warrior bore in hand a flaming torcl\ 
where he had long been, and to dwell in and he walked in front. It was not 
his haunts till the end of the world, ful- staked upon lot who should have the loot- 
fil high destiny. The hoard is laid open ing of that hoard, when the warriors 
to our view, fearfully purchased ; too s had partly taken a view of it in its keep- 
overpowering was that boon which at- erless state occupying the chamber, lying 
tracted our prince thither. I was in the helpless. Little did any man scruple that 
interior of the place, and I explored the they should with all despatch convey 
whole of it, the stores of the chamber, abroad the valuable treasures; the dragon 
inasmuch as the way had been opened lo moreover they haled, they shoved the 
for me and that by no gentle means, worm over the precipitous ciifif, they let 
passage was permitted in under the earth- the wave take him, the flood engulf him, 
ern dome. Hurriedly I grappled with that warder of precious spoils, 
my hands a huge mighty burden of There was coiled gold laden upon 

hoarded treasures ; out hither I bore them 15 wagon, countless in quantity of every 
to the feet of my king. He was still kind ; — the etheling was borne on a 
alive then, wise and sensible; freely did bier, the hoary warrior, to Hronesness. 
he talk, the aged one in death-pang; and 

he commanded me to give you his greet- xliii 

ing, he bade that you should construct, in 20 

memory of your chieftain's deeds, upon the funeral and the epitaph. 

the scefie of the bale-fire, a barrow of p^^. ^-^^^ ^^^^ ^-^ ^^le leeds of the 

the highest, mighty and magmfical, ac- q^^^^ construct a pyre upon the earth, 
cording as he was of all men the warrior ^j^^ ^^ ^^ ^^^^^ dimensions, hung about 
most famous, through the wide earth, so 25 ^j^^ helmets, with battle-boards, with 
long as he might enjoy the wealth ot his ^^-^^^^ byrnies, as he had requested; then 
castle. did they, heaving deep sighs, lay in 

' Go to, let us now hasten, a second ^^^ j^^j^^^ ^f j^. ^j^e illustrious chieftain, the 
time, to see and to visit the ruck ot j^^j.^^ ^j^g beloved lord. Then began the 
jewels, the spectacle beneath the earth- 30 warriors to kindle upon the hill the hug- 
work. I will be your guide, so that ye ^g^ ^f bale-fires; the wood-smoke 
shall have your fill of seeing close at counted up black over the combustive 
hand, collars and bullion gold. mass, the roaring blaze shot aloft, 

'Let the bier be ready, promptly mingled with the howling of the wind- 
equipped, attending us as we go forth 35 currents ; until the sweltering element 
of this place, and so let us convey our had demolished the bone-house. With 
master, the beloved man, to the place hearts distressed and care-laden minds 
where he shall tarry long in the safe they mourned their liege lord's death; 
keeping of the Almighty.' likewise a dirge of sorrow [was sung in 

Then did the son of Weohstan order his 40 honor of Beowulf by the aged dame, her 
brave warriors that they should issue hair bound up, her soul sorrowing; she 
commands to many homestead-owners, said repeatedly, that she sorely dreaded 
for them to haul pyre-timber from far for herself evil days, much bloodshed, the 
to meet the occasion of the ruler of warrior's horror, shame and captivity]. 
men : — ' Now must fire devour, the 45 Heaven swallowed the smoke, 
scowling flame must wash, the pillar of Then did the people of the Wederas 

warriors, him who often stood the shock construct a mound on the hill; it was 
of the iron shower, what tirne the storm high and broad, to sea-voyagers widely 
of missiles, urged by bow-strings, hurtled conspicuous; and during ten days they 
over the shield-wall, the shaft did its 5o labored about the building of the war- 
duty, with feather-fittings eager it backed hero's beacon : they surrounded the ashes 
up the arrow's point.' of the conflagration with an embank- 

Thereupon the prudent son of Weohstan ment in such wise as men of eminent 
called out of the squadron some thanes skill could contrive it with noblest effect, 
of the king, seven of them together, the ^^ They deposited in the barrow collars and 
choicest; he made the eighth, and went brilliants, the whole of such trappings 
with them under the dangerous roof; a as war-breathing men had recently cap- 



BEOWULF 



XXXlll 



tured in the hoard; they abandoned the 
accumulated wealth of eorls for the 
earth to retain it, gold in marl, where it 
now still continues to be as useless to 
mankind as it was erst. 

Then there rode round the mound 
war-chiefs, sons of ethelings, twelve in 
all ; they would bewail their loss, bemoan 
the king, recite an elegy, and celebrate 
his name. They admired his manhood, 
and they loftily appraised his daring 



work ; as it is fitting that a man should 
with words extol his liege lord, should 
cherish him in his affections, when he 
must take his departure from the ten- 
5 emental body. 

Thus did the leeds of the Goths, the 
companions of his hearth, lament the fall 
of their lord ; — they said that he was 
of all kings in the world, the mildest 
10 and most affable to his men ; most genial 
to his leeds; and most desirous of praise. 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT (c. 1375) 

The romantic stories cherished by the Norman conquerors of England found equal favot; 
in course of time, among the English. By the time of Chaucer's birth, English romances in 
verse were in full bloom, and during the course of that poet's life appeared the finest of all 
English romances, the anonymous Sir Qaioain and the Green Knight. This romance as we 
have it combines two stories that were originally separate : the test of Sir Gawain's Jjravery 
through the compact with the Green Knight, and the test of Sir Gawain's honor and chastity 
through the wife of his host of the castle. Although the English author probably drew ma- 
terials for his story directly from French sources, many of the structural and rhetorical 
excellencies of the present poem are certainly his own. A tale of daring, loyalty, courtesy, 
and religious devotion is presented in a spirit of refinement not to be exceeded. The poet's 
power of language is best shown in the scenery through which Sir Gawain is set a-wandering, — 
the winter scenery, not of conventional romance, but of Arthur's own Britain. 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN one while they would ride forth to joust 

KNIGHT and tourney, and again back to the court 

to make carols; for there was the feast 
■'■ holden fifteen days with all the mirth that 

After the siege and the assault of 5 men could devise, song and glee, glorious 
Troy, when that burg was destroyed and to hear, in the daytime, and dancing at 
burnt to ashes, and the traitor tried for night. Halls and chambers were crowded 
his treason, the noble iEneas and his kin with noble guests, the bravest of knights 
sailed forth to become princes and pa- and the loveliest of ladies, and Arthur 
trons of well-nigh all the Western Isles. 1° himself was the comeliest king that ever 
Thus Romulus built Rome (and gave to held a court. For all this fair folk were 
the city his own name, which it bears in their youth, the fairest and most for- 
even to this day) ; and Ticius turned him tunate under heaven, and the king him- 
to Tuscany; and Langobard raised him self of such fame that -it were hard now 
up dwellings in Lombardy ; and Felix 15 to name so valiant a hero. 
Brutus sailed far over the French flood, Now the New Year had but newly 

and founded the kingdom of Britain, come in, and on that day a double por- 
wherein have been war and waste and tion was served on the high table to all the 
wonder, and bliss and bale, ofttimes noble guests, and thither came the king 
since. 20 with all his knights, when the service 

And in that kingdom of Britain have in the chapel had been sung to an end. 
been wrought more gallant deeds than in And they greeted each other for the New 
any other; but of all British kings Arthur Year, and gave rich gifts, the one to the 
was the most valiant, as I have heard tell; other (and they that received them were 
therefore will I set forth a wondrous ad- ^5 not wroth, that may ye well believe!), 
venture that fell out in his time. And if and the maidens laughed and made mirth 
ye will listen to me, but for a little while, till it was time to get them to meat. 
I will tell it even as it stands in story Then they washed and sat them down 
stiff and strong, fixed in the letter, as to the feasting in fitting rank and order, 
it hath long been known in the land. 3o and Guinevere the queen, gaily clad, sat 

King Arthur lay at Camelot upon a on the high dais. Silken was her seat, 
Christmas-tide, with many a gallant lord with a fair canopy over her head, of 
and lovely lady, and all the noble brother- rich tapestries of Tars, embroidered, and 
hood of the Round Table. There they studded with costly gems; fair she was to 
held rich revels with gay talk and jest; 35 look upon, with her shining gray eyes, a 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xxxv 

fairer woman might no man boast him- man, only the mightiest that might mount 
self of having seen. a steed; broad of chest and shoulders 

But Arthur would ,not eat till all were and slender of waist, and all his features 
served, so full of joy and gladness was of like fashion; but men marveled much 
he, even as a child; he liked not either 5 at his color, for he rode even as a knight, 
to lie long, or to sit long at meat, so yet was green all over, 
worked upon him his young blood and his For he was clad all in green, with a 

wild brain. And another custom he had straight coat, and a mantle above; all 
also, that came of his nobility, that he decked and lined with fur was the cloth 
would never eat upon an high day till lo and the hood that was thrown back from 
he had been advised of some knightly his locks and lay on his shoulders. Hose 
deed, or some strange and marvelous had he of the same green, and spurs of 
tale, of his ancestors, or of arms; or of bright gold with silken fastenings richly 
other ventures. Or till some stranger v^^orked; and all his vesture was verily 
knight should seek of him leave to joust 15 green. Around his waist and his saddle 
with one of the Round Table, that they were bands with fair stones set upon 
might set their lives in jeopardy, one silken work, 't were too long to tell of all 
against another, as fortune might favor the trifles that were embroidered thereon 
them. Such was the king's custom when — birds and insects in gay gauds of green 
he sat in hall at each high feast with 20 and gold. All the trappings of his steed 
his noble knights; therefore on that New were of metal of like enamel, even the 
Year tide, he abode, fair of face, on the stirrups that he stood in stained of the 
throne, and made much mirth withal. same, and stirrups and saddle-bow ahke 

Thus the king sat before the high tables, gleamed and shone with green stones, 
and spake of many things ; and there good 25 Even the steed on which he rode was 
Sir Gawain was seated by Guinevere of the same hue, a green horse, great 
the queen, and on her other side sat and strong, and hard to hold, with broid- 
Agravain,' a la dure main; both were the ered bridle, meet for the rider, 
king's sister's sons and full gallant The knight was thus gaily dressed in 
knights. And at the end of the table 30 green, his hair falling around his shoul- 
was Bishop Bawdewyn, and Ywain, King ders; on his breast hung a beard, as thick 
Urien's son, sat at the other side alone, and green as a bush, and the beard and 
These were worthily served on the dais, the hair of his head were clipped all 
and at the lower tables sat many valiant round above his elbows. The lower part 
knights. Then they bare the first course 35 of his sleeves was fastened with clasps 
with the blast of trumpets and waving of in the same wise as a king's mantle, 
banners, with the sound of drums and The horse's mane was crisp and plaited 
pipes, of song and lute, that many a heart with many a knot folded in with gold 
was upHfted at the melody. Many were thread about the fair green, here a twist 
the dainties, and rare the meats ; so great 40 of the hair, here another of gold. The 
was the plenty they might scarce find tail was twined in like manner, and both 
room on the board to set on the dishes, were bound about with a band of bright 
Each helped himself as he liked best, and green set with many a precious stone; 
to each two were twelve dishes, with then they were tied aloft in a cunning 
great plenty of beer and wine. 45 knot, whereon rang many bells of bur- 

Now I will say no more of the serv- nished gold. Such a steed might no other 
ice, but that ye may know there was no ride, nor had such ever been looked upon 
lack, for there drew near a venture that in that hall ere that time; and all who 
the folk might well have left their labor saw that knight spake and said that a 
to gaze upon. As the sound of the music 5o man might scarce abide his stroke, 
ceased, and the first course had been The knight bore no helm nor hauberk 

fitly served, there came in at the hall neither gorget nor breast-plate, neither 
door one terrible to behold, of stature shaft nor buckler to smite nor to shield 
greater than any on earth; from neck to but in one hand he had a holly-bou<^h' 
lom so strong and thickly made, and with 55 that is greenest when the ^rroves are 
limbs so long and so great that he seemed bare, and in his other an axe'' huge and 
even as a giant. And yet he was but a uncomely, a cruel weapon in 'fashion if 



xxxvi APPENDIX 



one would picture it. The head was an proA^en in all knightly sports. And here, 
ell-yard long, the metal all of green steel as I have heard tell, is fairest courtesy; 
and gold, the blade burnished bright, with therefore have I come hither as at this 
a broad edge, as well shapen to shear as a time. Ye may be sure by the branch that 
sharp razor. The steel was set into a 5 1 bear here that I come in peace, seeking 
strong staff, all bound round with iron, no strife. For had I willed to journey in 
even to the end, and engraved with green warlike guise I have at home both hau- 
in cunning work. A lace was .twined berk and helm, shield and shining spear, 
about it, that looped at the head, and all and other weapons to mine hand, but 
adown the handle it was clasped with lo since I seek no war, my raiment is that 
tassels on buttons of bright green richly of peace. But if thou be as bold as all 
broidered. men tell, thou wilt freely grant me the 

The knight rideth through the entrance boon I ask.' 
of the hall, driving straight to the high And Arthur answered, ' Sir Knight, if 

dais, and greeted no man, but looked i5 thou cravest battle here thou shalt not 
ever upwards; and the first words he fail for lack of a foe.' 
spake were, ' Where is the ruler of this And the knight answered, ' Nay, I ask 
folk? I would gladly look upon that no fight; in faith here on the benches are 
hero, and have speech with him.' He but beardless children; were I clad in 
cast his eyes on the knights, and mustered 20 armor on my steed there is no man here 
them up and down, striving ever to see might match me. Therefore I ask in 
who of them was of most renown. this court but a Christmas jest, for that 

Then was there great gazing to behold it is Yule-tide, and New Year, and there 
that chief, for each man marveled what are here many fain for sport. If any 
it might mean that a knight and his steed 25 one in this hall holds himself so hardy, 
should have even such a hue as the green so bold both of blood and brain, as to 
grass; and that seemed even greener than dare strike me one stroke for another, I 
green enamel on bright gold. All looked will give him as a gift this axe, which is 
on him as he stood, and drew near unto heavy enough, in sooth, to handle as he 
him, wondering greatly what he miight be ; 3° may list, and I will abide the first blow, 
for many marvels had they seen, but none unarmed as I sit. If any knight be so 
such as this, and phantasm and faerie did bold as to prove my words, let him come 
the folk deem it. Therefore were the swiftly to me here, and take this weapon; 
gallant knights slow to answer, and gazed I quit claim to it, he may keep it as his 
astounded, and sat stone still in a deep 35 own, and I will abide his stroke, firm 
silence through that goodly hall, as if a on the floor. Then shalt thou give me 
slumber were fallen upon them. I deem it the right to deal him another, the respite 
was not all for doubt, but some for of a year and a day shall he have. Now 
courtesy that they might give ear unto haste, and let see whether any here dare 
his errand. 40 say aught.' 

Then Arthur beheld this adventurer be- Now if the knights had been astounded 

fore his high dais, and knightly he greeted at the first, yet stiller were they all, high 
him, for fearful was he never. ' Sir,' he and low, when they had heard his words, 
said, ' thou art welcome to this place — The knight on his steed straightened him- 
lord of this hall am I, and men call me 45 self in the saddle, and rolled his eyes 
Arthur. Light thee down, and tarry fiercely round the hall; red they gleamed 
awhile, and what thy will is, that shall we under his green and bushy brows. He 
learn after/ frowned and twisted his beard, waiting 

'Nay,' quoth the stranger, 'so help to see who should rise, and when none 
me he that sitteth on high, 'twas not 50 answered he cried aloud in mockery, 
mine errand to tarry any while in this * What, is this Arthur's hall, and these 
dwelling; but the praise of this thy folk the knights whose renown hath run 
and thy city is lifted up on high, and thy through many realms? Where are now 
warriors are holden for the best and the your pride and your conquests, youi: 
most valiant of those who ride mail-clad 55 wrath, and anger, and mighty words ? 
to the fight. The wisest and the worth- Now are the praise and the renown of 
iest of this world are they, and well the Round Table overthrown by one 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xxxvii 



man's speech, since all keep silence for well, nephew,' quoth Arthur, ' that thou 
dread ere ever they have seen a blow ! ' give him but the one blow, and if thou 

With that he laughed so loudly that the redest him rightly I trow thou shalt well 
blood rushed to the king's fair face for abide the stroke he may give thee after.' 
very shame; he waxed wroth, as did all 5 Gawain stepped to the stranger, axe in 
his knights, and sprang to his feet, and hand, and he, never fearing, awaited his 
drew near to the stranger and said, ' Now coming. Then the Green Knight spake 
by heaven, foolish is thy asking, and thy to Sir Gawain, ' Make we our covenant 
folly shall find its fitting answer. I know ere we go further. First, I ask thee, 
no man aghast at thy great words. Give lo knight, v/hat is thy name ? Tell me truly, 
me here thine axe and I shall grant thee that I may know thee.' 
the boon thou hast asked.' Lightly he * In faith,' quoth the good knight,- 

sprang to him and caught at his hand, ' Gawain am I, who give thee this buffet, 
and the knight, fierce of aspect, lighted let what may come of it ; and at this time 
down from his charger. 15 twelvemonth will I take another at thine 

Then Arthur took the axe and gripped hand with whatsoever weapon thou wilt, 
the haft, and swung it round, ready to and none other.' 

strike. And the knight stood before him. Then the other answered again, ' Sir 

taller by the head than any in the hall; Gawain, so may I thrive as I am fain to 
he stood, and stroked his beard, and drew 20 take this buft'et at thine hand,' and he 
down his coat, no more dismayed for the quoth further, ' Sir Gawain, it liketh me 
king's threats than if one had brought well that I shall take at thy fist that 
him a drink of wine. which I have asked here, and thou hast 

Then Gawain, who sat by the queen, readily and truly rehearsed all the cove- 
leaned forward to the king and spake, ' I 25 nant that I asked of the king, save that 
beseech ye, my lord, let this venture be thou shalt swear me, by thy troth, to 
mine. Would ye but bid me rise from seek me thyself wherever thou hopest 
this seat, and stand by your side, so that that I may be found, and win thee such 
my liege lady thought it not ill, then reward as thou dealest me to-day, before 
would I come to your counsel before this 30 this folk.' 

goodly court. For I think it not seemly ' Where shall I seek thee ? ' quoth 

when such challenges be made in your Gawain. ' Where is thy place ? By him 
hall that ye yourself should undertake it, that made me, I wot never where thou 
while there are many bold knights who sit dwellest, nor know I thee, knight, thy 
beside ye, none are there, methinks, of 35 court, nor thy name. But teach me truly 
readier will under heaven, or more valiant all that pertaineth thereto, and tell me 
in open field. I am the weakest, I wot, thy name, and I shall use all my wit to 
and the feeblest of wit, and it will be the win ray way thither, and that I swear 
less loss of my life if ye seek sooth. For thee for sooth, and by my sure troth.' 
save that ye are mine uncle, naught is 40 ' That is enough in the New Year, it 
there in me to praise, no virtue is there needs no more,' quoth the Green Knight 
in my body save your blood, and since to the gallant Gawain, ' if I tell thee 
this challenge is such folly that it be- truly when I have taken the blow, and 
seems ye not to take it, and I have asked thou hast smitten me; then will I teach 
it from ye first, let it fall to me, and if 45 thee of my house and home, and mine 
I bear myself ungallantly, then let all own name, then mayest thou ask thy road 
this court blame me.' and keep covenant. And if I waste no 

Then they all spake with one voice that words then farest thou the better, for 
the king should leave this venture and thou canst dwell in thy land, and seek 
grant it to Gawain. 5o no further. But take now thy toll, and 

Then Arthur commanded the knight to let see how thou strikest.' 
rise, and he rose up quickly and knelt 'Gladly will I,' quoth Gawain, han- 

down before the king, and caught hold of dling his axe. 

the weapon; and the king loosed his hold Then the Green Knight swiftly made 

of it, and lifted up his hand, and gave 55 him ready, he bowed down his head, and 
him his blessing, and bade him be strong laid his long locks on the crown that his 
both of heart and hand. * Keep thee bare neck might be seen. Gawain 



APPENDIX 



gripped his axe and raised it on high, ladies. But now I may well get me to 
the left foot he set forward on the floor, meat, for I have seen a marvel I may not 
and let the blow fall lightly on the bare forget.' Then he looked on Sir Gawain, 
neck. The sharp edge of the blade and said gaily, ' Now, fair nephew, hang 
sundered the bones, smote through the 5 up thine axe, since it has hewn enough,' 
neck, and clave it in two, so that the and they hung it on the dossal above the 
edge of the steel bit on the ground, and dais, where all men might look on it for 
the fair head fell to the earth that many a marvel, and by its true token tell of 
struck it with their feet as it rolled forth, the wonder. Then the twain sat them 
The blood spurted forth, and glistened 10 down together, the king and the good 
on the green raiment, but the knight knight, and men served them with a 
neither faltered nor fell; he started for- double portion, as was the share of the 
ward with out-stretched hand, and caught noblest, with all manner of meat and of 
the head, and lifted it up; then he turned minstrelsy. And they spent that day in 
to his steed, and took hold of the bridle, 15 gladness, but Sir Gawain must well be- 
set his foot in the stirrup, and mounted. think him of the heavy venture to which 
His head he held by the hair, in his hand, he had set his hand. 
Then he seated himself in his saddle as 

if naught ailed him, and he were not II 

headless. He turned his steed about, the 20 This beginning of adventures had Ar- 
grim corpse bleeding freely the whde, ^^ur at the New Year; for he yearned 
and they who looked upon hmi doubted ^q ^g^r gallant tales, though his words 
them much for the covenant. _ were few when he sat at the feast. But 

For he held up the head in his hand, now had they stern work on hand, 
and turned the face towards them that 25 Gawain was glad to begin the jest in the 
sat on the high dais, and it lifted up the hall, but ye need have no marvel if the 
eyelids and looked upon them and spake end be heavy. For though a man be 
as ye shall hear. 'Look, Gawain, that merry in mind when he has well drunk, 
thou art ready to go as thou hast prom- yet a year runs full swiftly, and the be- 
ised, and seek loyally till thou find me, 30 ginning but rarely matches the end. 
even as thou hast sworn in this hall in por Yule was now over-past, and the 

the hearing of these knights. Come yg^r after, each season in its turn foUow- 
thou, I charge thee, to the Green Chapel; ing the other. For after Christmas 
such a stroke as thou hast dealt thou hast comes crabbed Lent, that will have fish 
deserved, and it shall be promptly paid 35 for flesh and simpler cheer. But then the 
thee on New Year's morn. Many men weather of the world chides with winter; 
know me as the knight of. the Green the cold withdraws itself, the clouds up- 
Chapel, and if thou askest, thou shalt lift, and the rain falls in warm showers 
not fail to find me. Therefore it be- on the fair plains. Then the flowers 
hooves thee to come, or to yield thee as 40 come forth, meadows and grove are clad 
recreant.' in green, the birds make ready to build, 

With that he turned his bridle, and and sing sweetly for solace of the soft 
galloped out at the hall door, his head in summer that follows thereafter. The 
his hands, so that the sparks flew from blossoms bud and blow in the hedgerows 
beneath his horse's hoofs. Whither he 45 rich and rank, and noble notes enough 
went none knew, no more than they wist are heard in the fair woods, 
whence he had come; and the king and After the season of summer, with the 

Gawain they gazed and laughed, for in soft winds, when zephyr breathes lightly 
sooth this had proved a greater marvel on seeds and herbs, joyous indeed is the 
than any they had known aforetime. 50 growth that waxes thereout when the dew 

Though Arthur the king was astonished drips from the leaves beneath the blissful 
at his heart, yet he let no sign of it be glance of the bright sun. But then cornes 
seen, but spake in courteous wise to the harvest and hardens the grain, warning 
fair queen : ' Dear lady, be not dis- it to wax ripe ere the winter. The 
mayed, such craft is well suited to Christ- 55 drought drives the dust on high, flying 
mas-tide when we seek jesting, laughter, over the face of the land ; the angry wind 
and song, and fair carols of knights and of the welkin wrestles with the sun; the 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xxxix 

leaves fall from the trees and light upon him the byrnie of bright steel rings sewn 
the ground, and all brown are the groves upon a fair stuff. Well burnished braces 
that but now were green, and ripe is the they set on each arm with good elbow- 
fruit that once was flower. So the year pieces, and gloves of mail, and all the 
passes into many yesterdays, and winter 5 goodly gear that should shield him in his 
comes again, as it needs no sage to tell need. And they cast over all a rich 
us, surcoat, and se-t the golden spurs on his 

When the Michaelmas moon was come heels, and girt him with a trusty sword 
in with warnings of winter. Sir Gawain fastened with a silken bawdrick. When 
bethought him full oft of his perilous 10 he was thus clad his harness was costly, 
journey. - Yet till All Hallows Day he for the least loop or latchet gleamed with 
lingered with Arthur, and on that day gold. So armed as he was he hearkened 
they made a great feast for the hero's Mass and made his offering at the high 
sake, with much revel and richness of the altar. Then he came to the king, and the 
Round Table, Courteous knights and 15 knights of his court, and courteously 
comely ladies, all were in sorrow for the took leave of lords and ladies, and they 
love of that knight, and though they kissed him, and commended him to Christ, 
spake no word of it, many were joyless With that was Gringalet ready, girt 

for his sake, with a saddle that gleamed gaily with 

And after meat, sadly Sir Gawain 20 many golden fringes, enriched and 
turned to his uncle, and spake of his decked anew for the venture. The bridle 
journey, and said, ' Liege lord of my life, was all barred about with bright gold 
leave from you I crave. Ye know well buttons, and all the covertures and trap- 
how the matter stands without more pings of the steed, the crupper and the 
words ; to-morrow am I bound to set forth 25 rich skirts, accorded with the saddle; 
in search of the Green Knight.' spread fair with the rich red gold that 

Then came together all the noblest glittered and gleamed in the rays of the 
knights, Ywain and Erec, and many an- sun, 

other. Sir Dodinel le Sauvage, the Duke Then the knight called for his helmet, 

of Clarence, Launcelot and Lionel, and 30 which was well lined throughout, and set 
Lucan the Good, Sir Bors and Bedivere, it high on his head, and hasped it behind, 
valiant knights both, and many another He wore a light kerchief over the ventail, 
hero, with Sir Mador de la Porte, and that was broidered and studded with fair 
they all drew near, heavy at heart, to take gems on a broad silken ribbon, with birds 
counsel with Sir Gawain. Much sorrow 35 of gay color, and many a turtle and true- 
and weeping was there in the hall to lover's knot interlaced thickly, even as 
think that so worthy a knight as Gawain many a maiden had wrought diligently for 
should wend his way to seek a deadly seven winters long. But the circlet which 
blow, and should no more wield his sword crowned his helmet was yet more pre- 
in fight. But the knight made ever good 40 cious, being adorned with a device in 
cheer, and said, ' Nay, wherefore should diamonds. Then they brought him his 
I shrink? What may a man do but prove shield, which was of bright red, with the 
his fate ? ' pentangle painted thereon in gleaming 

He dwelt there all that day, and on the gold. And why that noble prince bare 
morn he arose and asked betimes for his 45 the pentangle I am minded to tell you, 
armor; and they brought it unto him on though my tale tarry thereby. It is a 
this wise: first, a rich carpet was stretched sign that Solomon set ere-while, as be- 
on the floor (and brightly did the gold tokening truth; for it is a figure with five 
gear glitter upon it), then the knight points and each line overlaps the other, 
stepped upon it, and handled the steel ; 5o and nowhere hath it beginning or end, 
clad he was in a doublet of silk, with a so that in English it is called ' the end- 
close hood, lined fairly throughout. Then less knot.' And therefore was it well 
they set the steel shoes upon his feet, and suiting to this knight and to his arms, 
•wrapped his legs with greaves, with pol- since Gawain was faithful in five and 
ished knee-caps, fastened with knots of 55. five-fold, for pure was he as gold, void 
gold. Then they cased his thighs in of all villainy and endowed with all vir- 
cuisses closed with thongs, and brought tues. Therefore he bare the pentangle 



xl APPENDIX 



on shield and surcoat as truest of heroes none save God with whom to take counsel, 
and gentlest of knights. At length he drew nigh to North Wales, 

For first he was faultless in his five and left the isles of Anglesey on his left 
senses ; and his five fingers never failed hand, crossing over the fords by the fore- 
him; and all his trust upon earth was in Bland over at Holyhead, till he came into 
the five wounds that Christ bare on the the wilderness of Wirral, where but few 
cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever dwell who love God and man of true 
this knight found himself in stress of heart. And ever he asked, as he fared, 
battle he deemed well that he drew his of all whom he met, if they had heard 
strength from the five joys which the lo any tidings of a Green Knight in the 
Queen of Heaven had of her Child, country thereabout, or of a Green Chapel ? 
And for this cause did he bear an image And all answered him, Nay, never in their 
of Our Lady on the one half of his shield, lives had they seen any man of such a 
that whenever he looked upon it he might hue. And the knight wended his way by 
not lack for aid. And the fifth five that 15 many a strange road and many a rugged 
the hero used were frankness and fellow- path, and the fashion of his countenance 
ship above all, purity and courtesy that changed full often ere he saw the Green 
never failed him, and compassion that Chapel. 

surpasses all; and in these five virtues Many a clifif did he climb in that un- 

was that hero wrapped and clothed. And 20 known land, where afar from his friends 
all these, five-fold, were linked one in the he rode as a stranger. Never did he 
other, so that they had no end, and were come to a stream or a ford but he found 
fixed on five points that never failed, a foe before him, and that one so marvel- 
neither at any side were they joined or ous, so foul and fell, that it behooved him 
sundered, nor could ye find beginning or 25 to fight. So many wonders did that 
end. And therefore on his shield was knight behold, that it were too long to 
the knot shapen, red-gold upon red, which tell the tenth part of them. Sometimes 
is the pure pentangle. Now was Sir he fought with dragons and wolves; 
Gawain ready, and he took his lance in sometimes with wild men that dwelt in 
hand, and bade them all farewell, he 3o the rocks ; anoUier while .with bulls, and 
deemed it had been for ever. bears, and wild boars, or with giants of 

Then he smote the steed with his spurs, the high moorland that drew near to him. 
and sprang on his way, so that sparks Had he not been a doughty knight, en- 
flew from the stones after him. All that during, and of well-proved valor, and a 
saw him were grieved at heart, and said 35 servant of God, doubtless he had been 
one to the other, ' By Christ, 't is great slain, for he was oft in danger of death, 
pity that one of such noble life should Yet he cared not so much for the strife; 
be lost ! I' faith, 't were not easy to find what he deemed worse was when the cold 
his equal upon earth. The king had done clear water was shed from the clouds, and 
better to have wrought more warily. 40 froze ere it fell on the fallow ground. 
Yonder knight should have been made More nights than enough he slept in his 
a duke; a gallant leader of men is he, harness on the bare rocks, near slain with 
and such a fate had beseemed him better the sleet, while the stream leapt bubbling 
than to be hewn in pieces at the will of from the crest of the hills, and hung in 
an elfish man, for mere pride. Who ever 45 hard icicles over his head, 
knew a king to take such counsel as to Thus in peril and pain, and many a 

risk his knights on a Christmas jest?' hardship, the knight rode alone till Christ- 
Many were the tears that flowed from mas Eve, and in that tide he made his 
their eyes when that goodly knight rode prayer to the Blessed Virgin that she 
from the hall. He made no delaying, 50 would guide his steps and lead him to 
but went his way swiftly, and rode many some dwelling. On that morning he rode 
a wild road, as I heard say in the book, by a hill, and came into a thick forest, 

So rode Sir Gawain through the realm wild and drear; on each side were high 
of Logres, on an errand that he held for hills, and thick woods below them of great 
no jest. Often he lay companionless at 55 hoar oaks, a hundred together, of hazel 
night, and must lack the fare that he liked. and hawthorn with their trailing boughs 
No comrade had he save his steed, and interwined, and rough ragged moss 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xli 

spreading everywhere. On the bare twigs wrought out of paper, so white was it. 
the birds chirped piteously, for pain of The knight on his steed deemed it fair 

the cold. The knight upon Gringalet rode enough, if he might come to be sheltered 
lonely beneath them, through marsh and within it to lodge there while that the 
mire, much troubled at heart lest he 5 holy-day lasted. He called aloud, and 
should fail to see the service of the Lord, soon there came a porter of kindly coun- 
who on that self-same night was born of tenance, who stood on the wall and 
a maiden for the cure of our grief; and greeted this knight and asked his errand, 
therefore he said, sighing, T beseech thee, ' Good sir,' quoth Gawain, ' wilt thou 

Lord, and Mary thy gentle Mother, for lo go mine errand to the high lord of the 
some shelter where I may hear Mass, and castle, and crave for me lodging?' 
thy matins at morn. This I ask meekly, ' Yea, by Saint Peter,' quoth the porter, 

and thereto I pray my Paternoster, Ave, ' In sooth I trow that ye be welcomes 
and Credo.' Thus he rode praying, and to dwell h,ere so long as it may like ye,' 
lamenting his misdeeds, and he crossed 15 Then he went, and came again swiftly, 
himself, and said, ' May the Cross of and many folk with him to receive the 
Christ speed me.' ' knight. They let down the great draw- 

Now that knight had crossed himself bridge, and came forth and knelt on their 
but thrice ere he was aware in the wood knees on the cold earth to give him 
of a dwelling within a moat, above a 20 worthy welcome. They held wide open 
lawn, on a mound surrounded by many the great gates, and courteously he bade 
mighty trees that stood round the moat, them rise, and rode over the bridge. 
'T was the fairest castle that ever a Then men came to him and held hii- 
knight owned; built in a meadow with a stirrup while he dismounted, and took 
park all about it, and a spiked palisade, 25 and stabled his steed. There came down 
closely driven, that enclosed the trees for knights and squires to bring the guest 
more than two miles. The knight was with joy to the hall. When he raised 
ware of the hold from the side, as it his helmet there were many to take it 
shone through the oaks. Then he lifted from his hand, fain to serve him, and 
off his helmet, and thanked Christ and 30 they took from him sword and shield. 
Saint Julian that they had courteously Sir Gawain gave good greeting to the 

granted his prayer, and hearkened to his noble and the mighty men who came to 
cry. ' Now,' quoth the knight, ' I be- do him honor. Clad in his shining armor 
seech ye, grant me fair hostel.' Then he they led him to the hall, where a great 
pricked Gringalet with his golden spurs, 35 fire burnt brightly on the floor; and the 
and rode gaily towards the great gate, lord of the household caine forth from 
and came swiftly to the bridge end. his chamber to meet the hero fitly. He 

The bridge was drawn up and the gates spake V< the knight, and said : ' Ye are 
close shut; the walls were strong and welcc^uid to do here as it likes ye. All 
thick, so that they might fear no tempest. 40 that iS here is your own to have at your 
The knight on his charger abode on the will and disposal.' 

bank of the deep double ditch that sur- ' Gramercy ! ' quoth Gawain, ' may 

rounded the castle. The walls were set Christ requite ye.' 

deep in the water, and rose aloft to a As friends that were fain each em- 

wondrous height; they were of hard hewn 45 braced the other; and Gawain looked on 
stone up to the corbels, which were the knight who greeted him so kindly, 
adorned beneath the battlements with and thought 'twas a bold warrior that 
fair carvings, and turrets set in between owned that burg. 

with many a loophole; a better barbican Of mighty stature he was, and of high 

Sir Gawain had never looked upon. And 5o age; broad and flowing was His beard, 
within he beheld the high hall, with its and of a bright hue. He was stalwart of 
tower and many windows with carven limb, and strong in his stride, his face 
cornices, and chalk- white chimneys on fiery red, and his speech free: in sooth 
the turreted roofs that shone fair in the he seemed one well fitted to be a leader 
sun. And everywhere, thickly scattered 55 of valiant men. 

on the castle battlements, were pinnacles. Then the lord led Sir Gawain to a 

so many that it seemed as if it were all chamber, and commanded folk to wait 



xlil APPENDIX 



upon him, and at his bidding- there came in the company of him to whom belonged 
men enough who brought the guest to a all fame, and valor, and courtesy, and 
fair bower. The bedding was noble, with whose honor was praised above that of all 
curtains of pure silk wrought with gold, men on earth. Each said softly to his 
and wondrous coverings of fair cloth all 5 fellow, ' Now shall we see courteous bear- 
embroidered. The curtains ran on ropes ing, and the manner of speech befitting 
with rings of red gold, and the walls were courts. What charm Heth in gentle 
hung with carpets of Orient, and the same speech shall we learn without asking, 
spread on the floor. There with mirth- since here we have welcomed the fine 
ful speeches they took from the guest his ^° father of courtesy. God has surely 
byrnie and all his shining armor, and shown us his grace since he sends us 
brought him rich robes of the choicest in such a guest as Gawain ! When men 
its stead. They were long and flowing, shall sit and sing, blithe for Christ's 
and became him well, and when he was birth, this knight shall bring us to the 
clad in them all who looked on the hero 15 knowledge of fair manners, and it may 
thought that surely God had never made be that hearing him we may learn the 
a fairer knight: he seemed as if he might cunning speech of love.' 
be a prince without peer in the field where By the time the knight had risen from 

men strive in battle. dinner it was near nightfall. Then chap- 

Then before the hearth-place, whereon 20 lains took their way to the chapel, and 
the fire burned, they made ready a chair rang loudly, even as they should, for the 
for Gawain, hung about with cloth and solemn evensong of the high feast, 
fair cushions ; and there they cast around Thither went the lord, and the lady also, 
him a mantle of brown samite, richly and entered with her maidens into a 
embroidered and furred within with costly 25 comely closet, and thither also went 
skins of ermine, with a hood of the same, Gawain. Then the lord took him by the 
and he seated himself in that rich seat, sleeve and led him to a seat, and called 
and warmed himself at the fire, and was him by his name, and told him he was of 
cheered at heart. And while he sat thus, all men in the world the most welcome, 
the serving men set up a table on trestles, 30 And Sir Gawain thanked him truly, and 
and covered it with a fair white cloth, and each kissed the other, and they sat 
set thereon salt-cellar, and napkin, and gravely together throughout the service, 
silver spoons; and the knight washed at Then was the lady fain to look upon 

his will, and set him down to meat. that knight; and she came forth from her 

The folk served him courteously with 35 closet with many fair maidens. The fair- 
many dishes seasoned of the best, a double est of ladies was she in face, and figure, 
portion. All kinds of fish were there, and coloring, fairer even than Guinevere, 
some baked in bread, some broiled on the so the knight thought. She came through 
embers, some sodden, some stewed and the chancel to greet the hero; another 
savored with spices, with all sorts of 40 lady held her by the left hand, older than 
cunning devices to his taste. And often she, and seeminglj' of high estate, with 
he called it a feast, when they spake gaily many nobles about her. But unlike to 
to him all together, and said, ' Now take look upon were those ladies, for if the 
ye this penance, and it shall be for your younger were fair, the elder was yellow, 
amendment' Much mirth thereof did 45 Rich red were the cheeks of the one. 
Sir Gawain make. rough and wrinkled those of the other; 

Then they questioned that prince the kerchiefs of the one were broidered 
courteously of whence he came; and he with many glistening pearls, her throat 
told them that he was of the court of and neck bare, and whiter than the snow 
Arthur, who is the rich royal king of the 5o that lies on the hills ; the neck of the 
Round Table, and that it was Gawain other was swathed in a gorget, with a 
himself who was within their walls, and white wimple over her black chin. Her 
would keep Christmas with them, as the forehead was wrapped in silk with many 
chance had fallen out. And when the folds, worked with knots, so that naught 
lord of the castle heard those tidings he 55 of her was seen save her black brows, 
laughed aloud for gladness, and all men in her eyes, her nose, and her lips, and those 
that keep were joyful that they should be were bleared, and ill to look upon. A 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xliH 

worshipful lady in sooth one might call So they held high feast that day and the 

her ! In figure was she short and broad, next, and the third day thereafter, and 
and thickly made — far fairer to behold the joy on Saint John's Day was fair to 
was she whom she led by the hand. hearken, for 't was the last of the feast 

When Gawain beheld that fair lady, 5 and the guests would depart in the gray 
who looked at him graciously, with leave of the morning. Therefore they awoke 
of the lord he went towards them, and, early, and drank wine, and danced fair 
bowing low, he greeted the elder, but the carols, and at last, when it was late, each 
younger and fairer he took lightly in his man took his leave to wend early on his 
arms, and kissed her courteously, and 10 way. Gawain would bid his host fare- 
greeted her in knightly wise. Then she well, but the lord took him by the hand, 
hailed him as friend, and he quickly and led him to his own chamber beside 
prayed to be counted as her servant, if the hearth, and there he thanked him for 
she so willed. Then they took him be- the favor he had shown him in honoring 
tween them, and talking, led him to the 15 his dwelling at that high season, and glad- 
chamber, to the hearth, and bade them dening his castle with his fair counte- 
bring spices, and they brought them in nance. ' I wis, sir, that while I live I 
plenty with the good wine that was wont shall be held the worthier that Gawain 
to be drunk at such seasons. Then the has been my guest at God's own feast.' 
lord sprang to his feet and bade them 20 ' Gramercy, sir/ quoth Gawain, ' in 
make merry, and took off his hood, and good faith, all the honor is yours, may the 
hung it on a spear, and bade him win High King give it you, and I am but at 
the worship thereof who should make your will to work your behest, inasmuch 
most mirth that Christmas-tide. 'And I as I am beholden to you in great and 
shall try, by my faith, to fool it with the 25 small by rights.* 

best, by the help of my friends, ere I lose Then the lord did his best to persuade 

my raiment' Thus with gay words the the knight to tarry with him, but Gawain 
lord made trial to gladden Gawain with answered that he might in no wise do so. 
jests that night, till it was time to bid Then the host asked him courteously what 
them light the tapers, and Sir Gawain 30 stern behest had driven him at the holy 
took leave of them and gat him to rest. season from the king's court, to fare all 

In the morn when all men call to mind alone, ere yet the feast was ended ? 
how Christ our Lord was born on earth ' Forsooth,' quoth the knight, * ye say 

to die for us, there is joy, for his sake, but the truth: 'tis a high quest and a 
in all dwellings of the world ; and so was 35 pressing that hath brought me afield, for 
there here on that day. For high feast I am summoned myself to a certain place, 
was held, with many dainties and cun- and I know not whither in the world I 
ningly cooked messes. On the dais sat may wend to find it; so help me Christ, I 
gallant men, clad in their best. The an- would give all the kingdom of Logres an 
cient dame sat on the high seat, with the 4° I might find it by New Year's morn, 
lord of the castle beside her. Gawain Therefore, sir, I make request of you that 
and the fair lady sat together, even in ye tell me truly if ye ever heard word of 
the midst of the board when the feast the Green Chapel, where it may be found, 
was served ; and so throughout all the hall and the Green Knight that keeps it For 
each sat in his degree, and was served 45 I am pledged by solemn compact sworn 
in order. There was meat, there was between us to meet that knight at the 
mirth, there was much joy, so that to New Year if so I were on life; and of 
tell thereof would take me too long, that same New Year it wants but little 
though peradventure I might strive to — I' faith, I would look on that hero 
declare it. But Gawain and that fair 50 more joyfully than on any other fair 
lady had much joy of each other's com- sight ! Therefore, by your will, it be- 
pany through her sweet words and courte- hooves m.e to leave you, for I have but 
ous converse. And there was music made barely three days, and I would as fain 
before each prince, trumpets and drums, fall dead as fail of mine errand.' 
and merry pipings ; each man hearkened 55 Then the lord quoth, laughing, ' Now 
his minstrel, and they too hearkened must ye needs stay, for I will show you 
theirs your goal, the Green Chapel, ere your 



div APPENDIX 



term be at an end, have ye no fear ! But covenant, for he knew v^ell how to make 
ye can take your ease, friend, in your bed, sport. • 

till the fourth day, and go forth on the III 

first of the year and come to that place Full early, ere daylight, the folk rose 

at mid-morn to do as ye will. Dwell here 5 up ; the guests who would depart called 
till New Year's Day, and then rise and their grooms, and they made them ready, 
set forth, and ye shall be set in the way; and saddled the steeds, tightened up the 
't is not two miles hence.' girths, and trussed up their mails. The 

Then was Gawain glad, and he laughed knights, all arrayed for riding, leapt up 
gaily. ' Now I thank you for this above 10 lightly, and took their bridles, and each 
all else. Now my quest is achieved I will rode his way as pleased him best, 
dwell here at your will, and otherwise do The lord of the land was not the last, 

as ye shall ask.' Ready for the chase, with many of his 

Then the lord took him, and set him men, he ate a sop hastily when he had 
beside him, and bade the ladies be fetched 15 heard Mass, and then with blast of the 
for their greater pleasure, tho' between bugle fared forth to the field. He and his 
themselves they had solace. The lord, for nobles were to horse ere daylight ghm- 
gladness, made merry jest, even as one mered upon the earth, 
who v/ist not what to do for joy; and he Then the huntsmen coupled their 

cried aloud to the knight, ' Ye have 20 hounds, unclosed the kennel door, and 
promised to do the thing I bid ye : will called them out. They blew three blasts 
ye hold to this behest, here, at once ? ' gaily on the bugles, the hounds bayed 

' Yea, forsooth,' said that true knight, fiercely, and they that would go a-hunt- 
* while I abide in your burg I am bound ing checked and chastised them. A hun- 
by your behest.' 25 dred hunters there were of the best, so 

' Ye have traveled from far,' said the I have heard tell. Then the trackers gat 
host, ' and since then ye have waked with them to the trysting-place and uncoupled 
me, ye are not well refreshed by rest and the hounds, and the forest rang again 
sleep, as I know. Ye shall therefore with their gay blasts, 
abide in your chamber, and lie at your 30 At the first sound of the hunt the game 
ease to-morrow at Mass-tide, and go to quaked for fear, and fled, trembling, along 
meat when ye will with my wife, who the vale. They betook them to the 
shall sit with you, and comfort you with heights, but the liers in wait turned them 
her company till I return; and I shall rise back with loud cries; the harts they let 
early and go forth to the chase.' And 35 pass them, and the stags with their 
Gawain agreed to all this courteously. spreading antlers, for the lord had for- 

* Sir knight,' quoth the host, * we will bidden that they should be slain, but the 
make a covenant. Whatsoever I win in hinds and the does they turned back, and 
the wood shall be yours, and whatever drave down into the valleys. Then might 
may fall to your share, that shall ye ex- 40 ye see much shooting of arrows. As the 
change for it. Let us swear, friend, to deer fled under the boughs a broad whis- 
make this exchange, however our hap may tling shaft smote and wounded each sorely, 
be, for worse or for better.' so that, wounded and bleeding, they fell 

' I grant ye your will,' quoth Gawain dying on the banks. The hounds fol- 
the good; ' if ye list so to do, it liketh me 45 lowed swiftly on their tracks, and hunters, 
■yy^ell,' blowing the horn, sped after them with 

' Bring hither the wine-cup, the bargain ringing shouts as if the cliffs burst 
is made,' so said the lord of that castle, asunder. What game escaped those that 
They laughed each one, and drank of the shot was run down at the outer rmg. 
wine, and made merry, these lords and 5o Thus were they driven on the hills, and 
ladies, as it pleased them. Then with gay harassed at the waters, so well did the 
talk and merry jest they rose, and stood, men know their work, and the greyhounds 
and spoke softly, and kissed courteously, were so great and swift that they ran 
and took leave of each other. With burn- them down as fast as the hunters could 
ing torches, and many a serving-man, was 55 slay them. Thus the lord passed the day 
each led to his vouch; yet ere they gat in mirth and joyfulness, even to night- 
,"*-em to bed the oid }o;-d oft repeated their fall- 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xlv 

So the lord roamed the woods, and since in this hour I have him that all men 
Gawain, that good knight, lay ever a-bed, love, I shall use my time well with speech, 
curtained about, under the costly cover- while it lasts. Ye are welcome to my 
let, while the daylight gleamed on the company, for it behooves me in sooth to 
walls. And as he lay half slumbering, he 5 be your servant.' 

heard a little sound at the door, and he ' In good faith,' quoth Gawain, ' I 

raised his head, and caught back a corner think me that I am not him of whom ye 
of the curtain, and waited to see what it speak, for unworthy am I of such service 
might be. It was the lovely lady, the as ye here proffer. In sooth, I were glad 
lord's wife; she shut the door softly be- 10 if I might set myself by word or service 
hind her, and turned towards the bed ; and to your pleasure ; a pure joy would it be 
Gawain was shamed, laid him down softly to me ! ' 

and made as if he slept. And she came 'In good faith. Sir Gawain,' quoth the 

lightly to the bedside, within the curtain, gay lady, ' the praise and the prowess 
and sat herself down beside him, to wait 15 that pleases all ladies I lack them not, 
till he wakened. The knight lay there nor hold them light; yet are there ladies 
awhile, and marveled within himself enough who would liever now have the 
what her coming might betoken; and he knight in their hold, as I have ye here, to 
said to himself, ' 'T were more seemly if dally with your courteous words, to bring 
I asked her what hath brought her hither.' 20 them comfort and to ease their cares. 
Then he made feint to waken, and turned than much of the treasure and the gold 
towards her, and opened his eyes as one that are theirs. And now, through the 
astonished, and crossed himself; and she grace of Him who upholds the heavens, 
looked on him laughing, with her cheeks I have wholly in my power that which 
red and white, lovely to behold, and small 25 they all desire ! ' 
smiling lips. Thus the lady, fair to look upon, 

' Good morrow. Sir Gawain,' said that made him great cheer, and Sir Gawain, 
fair lady; 'ye are but a careless sleeper, with modest words, answered her again: 
since one can enter thus. Now are ye * Madam,' he quoth, ' may Mary requite 
taken tmawares, and lest ye escape me I 30 ye, for in good faith I have found in ye a 
shall bind you in your bed; of that be ye noble frankness. Much courtesy have 
assured ! ' Laughing, she spake these other folk shown me, but the honor they 
words. have done me is naught to the worship 

* Good morrow, fair lady,' quoth Ga- of yourself, who knoweth but good.' 
wain blithely. ' I will do your will, as it 35 ' By Mary,' quoth the lady, ' I think 
likes me well. For I yield me readily, otherwise ; for were I worth all the 
and pray your grace, and that is best, by women alive, and had I the wealth of the 
my faith, since I needs must do so.' Thus world in my hand, and might choose me 
he jested again, laughing, ' But an ye a lord to my liking, then, for all that I 
would, fair lady, grant me this grace that 40 have seen in ye. Sir Knight, of beauty 
ye pray your prisoner to rise. I would and courtesy and blithe semblance, and 
get me from bed, and array me better, for all that I have hearkened and hold 
then could I talk with ye in more com- for true, there should be no knight on 
fort.' earth to be chosen before ye.' 

' Nay, forsooth, fair sir,' quoth the 45 ' Well I wot,' quoth Sir Gawain, ' that 
lady, ' ye shall not rise, I will rede ye ye have chosen a better ; but I am proud 
better. I shall keep ye here, since ye can that ye should so prize me, and as your 
do no other, and talk with my knight servant do I hold ye my sovereign, and 
whom I have captured. For I know well your knight am I, and may Christ re- 
that ye are Sir Gawain, whom all the 50 ward ye.' 

world worships, wheresoever ye may So they talked of many matters till 

ride. Your honor and your courtesy are mid-morn was past, and ever the lady 
praised by lords and ladies, by all who made as though she loved him, and the 
live. Now ye are here and we are alone, knight turned her speech aside. For 
my lord and his men are afield ; the serv- 55 though she were the brightest of maid- 
ing men in their beds, and my maidens ens, yet had he forborne to show her 
also, and the door shut upon us. And love for the danger that awaited him, and 



xlvi , APPENDIX 



the blow that must be given without de • quoth the host, ' for by accord of cove- 
lay, nant ye may claim it as your own.' 

Then the lady prayed her leave from ' That in sooth,' quoth the othef, ' I 

him, and he granted it readily. And she grant you that same; and I have fairly 
gave him good-day, with laughing glance, 5 won this within walls, and with as good 
but he must needs marvel at her words: will do I yield it to ye.' With that he 

' Now He that speeds fair speech re- clasped his hands round the lord's neck 
ward ye this disport; but that ye be Ga- and kissed him as courteously as he 
waiii my mind misdoubts me greatly.' might. ' Take ye here my spoils, no more 

' Wherefore ? ' quoth the knight quickly, 10 have I won ; ye should have it freely, 
fearing lest he had lacked in some cour- though it were greater than this.' 
tesy. "T is good,' said the host, ' gramercy 

And the lady spake : ' So true a knight thereof. Yet were I fain to know where 
as Gawain is holden, and one so perfect ye won this same favor, and if it were 
in courtesy, would never have tarried so 15 by your own wit ? ' 

long with a lady but he_ would of _ his ' Nay,' answered Gawain, ' that was 

courtesy have craved a kiss at parting.' not in the bond. Ask me no more: ye 

Then quoth Gawain, ' I wot I will do have taken what was yours by right, be 
even as it may please ye, and kiss at your content with that.' 

commandment, as a true knight should 20 They laughed and jested together, and 
who forbears to ask for fear of displeas- gat them down to supper, where they were 
ure.' served with many dainties ; and after 

At that she came near and bent down supper they sat by the hearth, and wine 
and kissed the knight, and each com- -^vas served out to them ; and oft in their 
mended the other to Christ, and she went 2s jesting they promised to observe on the 
forth from the chamber softly. morrow the same covenant that they had 

Then Sir Gawain rose and called his made before, and whatever chance might 
chamberlain and chose his garments, and betide, to exchange their spoil, be it much 
when he was ready he gat him forth to or little, when they met at night. Thus 
Mass, and then went to meat, and made 30 they renewed their bargain before the 
merry all day till the rising of the moon, whole court, and then the night-drink was 
and never had a knight fairer lodging served, and each courteously took leave of 
than had he with those two noble ladies, the other and gat him to bed, 
the elder and the younger. By the time the cock had crowed thrice 

And ever the lord of the land chased 35 the lord of the castle had left his bed ; 
the hinds through holt and health till even- Mass was sung and meat fitly served, 
tide, and then with much blowing of The folk were forth to the wood ere the 
bugles and baying of hounds they bore day broke, with hound and horn they rode 
the game homeward; and by the time over the plain, and uncoupled their dogs 
daylight was done all the folk had re- 40 among the thorns. Soon they struck on 
turned to that fair castle. And when the scent, and the hunt cheered on the 
the lord and Sir Gawain met together, hounds who were first to seize it, urging 
then were they both well pleased. The them with shouts. The others hastened 
lord commanded them all to assemble in to the cry, forty at once, and there rose 
the great hall, and the ladies to descend 45 such a clamor from the pack that the 
with their maidens, and there, before rocks rang again. The huntsmen spurred 
them all, he bade the men fetch in the them on with shouting and blasts of the 
spoil of the day's hunting, and he called horn; and the hounds drew together to 
unto Gawain, and counted the tale of the a thicket betwixt the water and a high 
beasts, and showed them unto him, and 50 crag in the cliff beneath the hillside, 
said, ' What think ye of this game. Sir There where the rough rock fell ruggedly 
Knight? Have I deserved of ye thanks they, the huntsmen, fared to the finding, 
for my woodcraft?' and cast about round the hill and the 

' Yea, I wis,' quoth the other, ' here is thicket behind them. The knights wist 
the fairest spoil I have seen this seven 55 well what beast was within, and would 
year in the winter season.' drive him forth with the bloodhounds. 

■ \nd all this do I give ye, Gawain,' And as they beat the bushes, suddenly 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xlvii 



over the beaters there rushed forth a may not be forbid, ye are strong enough 
vvondrous great and fierce boar, long to constrain by strength an ye will, were 
since had he left the herd to roam by any so discourteous as to give ye denial.' 
himself. Grunting, he cast many to the ' Yea, by heaven,' said Gawain, ' ye 

ground, and fled forth at his best speed, 5 speak well ; but threats profit little in the 
without more mischief. The men hal- land where I dv/ell, and so with a'gift 
looed loudly and cried, 'Hay! Hay!' and that is given not of good will! I am at 
blew the horns to urge on the hounds, your commandment to kiss when ye like, 
and rode swiftly after the boar. Many a to take or to leave as ye list.' 
time did he turn to bay and tare the lo Then the lady bent her down and 
hounds, and they yelped, and howled kissed him courteously, 
shrilly. Then the men made ready their And as they spake together she said, 

arrows and shot at him, but the points ' I would learn somewhat from ye, an ye 
were turned on his thick hide, and the would not be wroth, for young ye are 
barbs would not bite upon him, for the 15 and fair, and so courteous and knightly 
shafts shivered in pieces, and the head as ye are known to be, the head of all 
but leapt again wherever it hit. chivalry, and versed in all wisdom of 

But when the boar felt the stroke of love and war— 'tis ever told of true 
the arrows he waxed mad with rage, and knights how they adventured their lives 
turned on the hunters and tare many, so 20 for their true love, and endured hard- 
that, affnghtened, they fled before him. ships for her favors, and avenged her 
But the lord on a swift steed pursued with valor, and eased her sorrows, and 
him, blowing his bugle; as a gallant brought joy to her bower; and ye are 
knight he rode through the woodland the fairest knight of your time, and your 
chasing the boar till the sun grew low. 25 fame and your honor are everywhere. 

So did the hunters this day, while Sir yet I have sat by ye here twice, and never 
Gawain lay in his bed lapped in rich a word have I heard of love! Ye who 
gear; and the lady forgat not to salute- are so courteous and skilled in such love 
him, for early was she at his side, to cheer ought surely to teach one so young and 
his mood. J , , ^ 30 unskilled some little craft of true love! 

She came to the bedside and looked on Why are ye so unlearned who art other- 
the knight, and Gawain gave her fit ^i^^ ^^ famous? Or is it that ye deemed 
greeting, and she greeted him again with ,^^ unworthy to hearken to your teach- 
ready words and sat her by his side and j^g? p^^ sha^e. Sir Knight! I come 
laughed, and with a sweet look she spoke 35 hither alone and sit at your side to learn 
*°A^P' ., ^ . T i • , • of ye some skill; teach me of your wit, 

Sir, if ye be Gawain, I think it a ^hile my lord is from home.' 
wonder that ye be so stern and cold, and « in good faith,' quoth Gawain, ' great is 

care not for the courtesies of friendship, ^y joy and my profit that so fair a lady as 
but if one teach ye to know them ye cast 4o y^ are should deign to come hither, and 
the lesson out of your mmd. Ye have trouble ye with so poor a man, and make 
soon forgotten what I taught ye yester- gport with your knight with kindly 
day, by all the truest tokens that I countenance, it pleaseth me much. But 

^"f.^.r . , -., ^^^* ^' ^" "^y turn, should take it upon 

What IS that? quoth the knight. 45 me to tell of love and such like matters 
' I trow I know not. If it be sooth that to ye who know more by half, or a hun- 
ye say, then is the blame mine own.' dred fold, of such craft than I do, or ever 

' But I taught ye of kissing,' quoth the shall in all my lifetime, by my troth 
fair lady. ' Wherever a fair countenance 't were folly indeed ! I will work your 
is shown him, it behooves a courteous 50 will to the best of my might as I am 
knight quickly to claim a kiss.' bounden, and evermore will I be your 

' Nay, my dear,' said Sir Gawain, servant, so help me Christ ! ' 
'cease that speech; that durst I not do Then often with guile she questioned 

lest I were denied, for if I were forbidden that knight that she might win him to 
I wot I were wrong did I further en- 55 woo her, but he defended himself so fairly 
ti'eat.' that none might in any wise blame him, 

' r faith,' quoth the lady merrily, ' ye and naught but bliss and harmless jesting 



xlviii 'APPENDIX 



was there between them. They laughed them the tale, how they hunted the wild 
and talked together till at last she kissed boar through the woods, and of his length 
him, and craved her leave of him, and and breadth and height; and Sir Gawain 
went her way. commended his deeds and praised him for 

Then the knight rose and went forth 5 his valor, well proven, for so mighty a 
to Mass, and afterward dinner was served beast had he never seen before, 
and he sat and spake with the ladies all Then they handled the huge head, and 

day. But the lord of the castle rode ever the lord said aloud, ' Now, Gawain, this 
over the land chasing the wild boar, that game is your own by sure covenant, as ye 
fled through the thickets, slaying the best 10 right well know.' 

of his hounds and breaking their backs in " 'T is sooth,' quoth the knight, ' and 

sunder; till at last he was so weary he as truly will I give ye all I have gained.' 
might run no longer, but made for a hole He took the host round the neck, and 
in a mound by a rock. He got the mound kissed him courteously twice. ' Now are 
at his back and faced the hounds, whetting 15 we quits,' he said, ' this eventide, of all 
his white tusks and foaming at the mouth. the covenants that we made since I came 
The huntsmen stood aloof, fearing to hither.' 

draw nigh him ; so many of them had And the lord answered, ' By Saint Giles, 

been already wounded that they were ye are the best I know; ye will be rich 
loath to be torn with his tusks, so fierce 20 in a short space if ye drive such bar- 
he was and mad with rage. At length gains ! ' 

the lord himself came up, and saw the Then they set up the tables on trestles, 

beast at bay, and the men standing aloof. and covered them with fair cloths, and 
Then quickly he sprang to the ground and lit waxen tapers on the walls. The 
drew out a bright blade, and waded 25 knights sat and were served in the hall, 
through the stream to the boar. and much game and glee was there round 

When the beast was aware of the the hearth, with many songs, both at 
knight with weapon in hand, he set up supper and after; song of Christmas, and 
his bristles and snorted loudly, and many new carols, with all the mirth one may 
feared for their lord lest he should be 30 think of. And ever that lovely lady sat 
slain. Then the boar leapt upon the by the knight, and with still stolen looks 
knight so that beast and man were one made such feint of pleasing him, that 
atop of the other in the water; but the Gawain marveled much, and was wroth 
boar had the worst of it, for the man had with himself, but he could not for his 
marked, even as he sprang, and set the 35 courtesy return her fair glances, but 
point of his brand to the beast's chest, dealt with her cunningly, however she 
and drove it up to the hilt, so that the might strive to wrest the thing, 
heart was split in twain, and the boar When they had tarried in the hall so 

fell snarHng, and was swept down by long as it seemed them good, they turned 
the water to where a hundred hounds 40 to the inner chamber and the wide hearth- 
seized on him, and the men drew him place, and there they drank wine, and the 
to shore for the dogs to slay. host proffered to renew the covenant for 

Then was there loud blowing of horns New Year's Eve; but the knight craved 
and baying of hounds, the huntsmen leave to depart on the morrow, for it was 
smote off the boar's head, and hung the 45 nigh to the term when must fulfil his 
carcass by the four feet to a stout pole, pledge. But the lord would withhold him 
and so went on their way homewards. from so doing, and prayed him to tarry. 
The head they bore before the lord him- and said, 

self, who had slain the beast at the ford * As I am a true knight I swear my 

by force of his strong hand. 50 troth that ye shall come to the Green 

It seemed him o'er long ere he saw Sir Chapel to achieve your task on New 
Gawain in the hall, and he called, and Year's morn, long before prime. There- 
the guest came to take that which fell to fore abide ye in your bed, and I will hunt 
his share. And when he saw Gawain the in this wood, and hold ye to the cove- 
lord laughed aloud, and bade them call 55 nant to exchange with me against all the 
the ladies and the household together, spoil I may bring hither. For twice have 
and he showed them the game, and told I tried ye, and found ye true,^ and the 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT xlix 



morrow shall be the third time and the of twenty together. Thus she came into 
best. Make we merry now while we the chamber, closed the door after her, 
may, and think on joy, for misfortune and set open a window, and called to him 
may take a man whensoever it wiUs.' gaily, 'Sir Knight, how may ye sleep? 

Then Gawain granted his request, and 5 The morning is so fair.' 
they brought them drink, and they gat Sir Gawain was deep in slumber, and 

them with lights to bed. in his dream he vexed him much for 

Sir Gawain lay and slept softly, but the the destiny that should befall him on the 
lord, who was keen on woodcraft, was morrow, when he should meet the knight 
afoot early. After Mass he and his men 10 at the Green Chapel, and abide his blow ; 
ate a morsel, and he asked for his but when the lady spake^ he heard her, 
steed ; all the knights who should ride and came to himself, and roused from his 
with him were already mounted before dream and answered swiftly. The lady 
the hall gates. came laughing, and kissed him courte- 

'T was a fair frosty morning, for the 15 ously, and he welcomed her fittingly with 
sun rose red in ruddy vapor, and the a cheerful countenance. He saw her so 
welkin was clear of clouds. The hunters glorious and gaily dressed, so faultless 
scattered them by a forest side, and- the of features and complexion, that it 
rocks rang again with the blast of their warmed his heart to look upon her. 
horns. Some came on the scent of a fox, 20 They spake to each other smiling, and 
and a hound gave tongue ; the huntsmen all was bliss and good cheer between 
shouted, and the pack followed in a crowd them. They exchanged fair words, and 
on the trail. The fox ran before them, much happiness was therein, yet was 
and when they saw him they pursued him there a gulf between them, and she might 
with noise and much shouting, and he 25 win no more of her knight, for that gal- 
wound and turned through many a thick lant prince watched well his words — 
grove, often cowering and hearkening in he would neither take her love, nor 
a hedge. At last by a little ditch he frankly refuse it. He cared for his 
leapt out of a spinney, stole away slily courtesy, lest he be deemed churlish, and 
by a copse path, and so out of the wood 3° yet more for his honor lest he be traitor 
and away from the hounds. But he went, to his host. ' God forbid,' quoth he to 
ere he wist, to a chosen tryst, and three himself, ' that it should so befall.' Thus 
started forth on him at once, so he must with courteous words did he set aside all 
needs double back, and betake him to the the special speeches that came from her 
wood again. 35 lips. 

Then was it j-oyful to hearken to the Then spake the lady to the knight, ' Ye 

hounds ; when all the pack had met to- deserve blame if ye hold not that lady 
gether and had sight of their game they who sits beside ye above all else in the 
made as loud a din as if all the lofty world, if ye have not already a love 
cliffs had fallen clattering together. The 4° whom ye hold dearer, and like better, and 
huntsmen shouted and threatened, and have sworn such firm faith to that lady 
followed close upon him so that he might that ye care not to loose it — ■ and that 
scarce escape, but Reynard was wily, and am I now fain to believe. And now I 
he turned and doubled upon them, and pray ye straitly that ye tell me that in 
led the lord and his men over the hills, 45 truth, and hide it not.' 
now on the slopes, now in the vales. And the knight answered, ' By Saint 

while the knight at home slept through John' (and he smiled as he spake) 'no 
the cold morning beneath his costly cur- sach love have I, nor do I think to have 
tains. yet awhile.' 

But the fair lady of the castle rose 50 ' That is the worst word I may hear,' 
betimes, and clad herself in a rich mantle quoth the lady, ' but in sooth I have mine 
that reached even to the ground, left her answer; kiss me now courteously, and I 
throat and her fair neck bare, and was will go hence; I can but mourn as a 
bordered and lined with costly furs. On maiden that loves much.' 
her head she wore no golden circlet, but a 55 Sighing, she stooped down and kissed 
network of precious stones, that gleamed him, and then she rose up and spake as 
and shone through her tresses in clusters she stood, ' Now, dear, at our parting do 



1 APPENDIX 



me this grace : give me some gift, if it tue that is knit therein he would, per- 
were but thy glove, that I may bethink adventure, value it more highly. For 
me of my knight, and lessen my mourn- whatever knight is girded with this green 
ing.' _ lace, while he bears it knotted about him 

' Now, I wis,' quoth the knight, ' I 5 there is no man under heaven can over- 
would that I had here the most precious come him, for he may not be slain for 
thing that I possess on earth that I might any magic on earth.' 

leave ye as love-token, great or small, for Then Gawain bethought him, and it 

ye have deserved forsooth more reward came into his heart that this were a jewel 
than I might give ye. But it is not to 10 for the jeopardy that awaited him when 
your honor to have at this time a glove he came to the Green Chapel to seek the 
for reward as gift from Gawain, and I return blow — could he so order it that 
am here on a strange errand, and have no he should escape unslain, 't were a craft 
man with me, nor mails with goodly worth trying. Then he bare with her 
things — that mislikes me much, lady, at 15 chiding, and let her say her say, and she 
this time; but each man must fare as he pressed the girdle on him and prayed 
is taken, if for sorrow and ill.' him to take it, and he granted her prayer, 

' Nay, knight highly honored,' quoth and she gave it him with good will, and 
that lovesome lady, ' though I have besought him for her sake never to re- 
naught of yours, yet shall ye have some- 20 veal it but to hide it loyally from her 
what of mine.' With that she reached lord; and the knight agreed that never 
him a ring of red gold with a sparkling should any man know it, save they two 
stone therein, that shone even as the sun alone. He thanked her often and heart- 
(wit ye well, it was worth many marks) ; ily, and she kissed him for the third 
but the knight refused it, and spake 25 time, 
readily. Then she took her leave of him, and 

' I will take no gift, lady, at this time. when she was gone Sir Gawain rose, 
I have none to give, and none will I and clad him in rich attire, and took the 
take.' girdle, and knotted it round him, and 

She prayed him to take it, but he re- 30 hid it beneath his robes. Then he took 
fused her prayer, and sware in sooth that his way to the chapel, and sought out a 
he would not have it. priest privily and prayed him to teach 

The lady was sorely vexed, and said, him better how his soul might be saved 
'If ye refuse my ring as too costly, that when he should go hence; and there he 
ye will not be so highly beholden to me, 35 shrived him, and showed his misdeeds, 
I will give you my girdle as a lesser gift.' both great and small, and besought mercy 
With that she loosened a lace that was and craved absolution ; and the priest as- 
fastened at her side, knit upon her kirtle soiled him, and set him as clean as if 
under her mantle. It was wrought of doomsday had been on the morrow. And 
green silk, and gold, only braided by the 40 afterwards Sir Gawain made him merry 
fingers, and that she offered to the knight, with the ladies, with carols, and all kinds 
and besought him though it were of little of joy, as never he did but that one day, 
worth that he would take it, and he said even to nightfall ; and all the men mar- 
nay, he would touch neither gold nor gear veled at him, and said that never since 
ere God give him grace to achieve the 45 he came thither had he been so merry, 
adventure for which he had come hither. Meanwhile the lord of the castle was 

'And therefore, I pray ye, displease ye abroad chasing the fox; awhile he lost 
not, and ask me no longer, for I may not him, and as he rode through a spinney he 
grant it. I am dearly beholden to ye for heard the hounds near at hand, and Rey- 
the favor ye have shown me, and ever, in 5o nard cam.e creeping through a thick 
heat and cold, will I be your true serv- grove, with all the pack at his heels, 
ant.' Then the lord drew out his shining brand, 

' Now,' said the lady, ' ye refuse this and cast it at the beast, and the fox 
silk, for it is simple in itself, and so it swerved aside for the sharp edge, and 
seems, indeed ; lo, it is small to look upon 55 would have doubled back, but a hound 
and less in cost, but whoso knew the vir- was on him ere he might turn, and right 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT li 

before the horse's feet they all fell on took his leave of the lord, and thanked 

him, and worried him fiercely, snarling him fairly. 

the while. ' For the fair sojourn that I have had 

Then the lord leapt from his saddle, here at this high feast may the High King 
and caught the fox from the jaws, and 5 give ye honor. I give ye myself, as one 
held it aloft over his head, and hallooed of your servants, if ye so like; for I must 
loudly, and many brave hounds bayed as needs, as you know, go hence with the 
they beheld it; and the hunters hied them morn, and ye will give me, as ye prom- 
thither, blowing their horns; all that bare ised, a guide to show me the way to the 
bugles blew them at once, and all the lo Green Chapel, an God will suffer me on 
others shouted. 'T was the merriest New Year's Day to deal the doom of 
meeting that ever men heard, the clamor my weird.' 

that was raised at the deaih of the fox. ' By my faith,' quoth the host, ' all 

They rewarded the hounds, stroking them that ever I promised, that shall I keep 
and rubbing their heads, and took Rey- 15 with good wilk' Then he gave him a 
nard and stripped him of his coat ; then servant to set him in the way, and lead 
blowing their horns, they turned them him by the downs, that he should have no 
homewards, for it was nigh nightfall. need to ford the stream, and should fare 

The lord was gladsome at his return, by the shortest road through the groves ; 
and found a bright fire on the hearth, 20 and Gawain thanked the lord for the 
and the knight beside it, the good Sir honor done him. Then he would take 
Gawain, who was in joyous mood for the leave of the ladies, and courteously he 
pleasure he had had with the ladies. He kissed them, and spake, praying them to re- 
wore a robe of blue, that reached even to ceive his thanks, and they made like reply ; 
the ground, and a surcoat richly furred, 25 then with many sighs they commended 
that became him well. A hood like to him to Christ, and he departed courte- 
the surcoat fell on his shoulders, and all ously from that fold. Each man that he 
alike were done about with fur. He met met he thanked him for his service and 
the host in the midst of the floor, and his solace, and the pains he had been at 
jesting, he greeted him, and said, ' Now 30 to do his will ; and each found it as hard 
shall I be first to fulfil our covenant which to part from the knight as if he had ever 
we made together when there was no lack dwelt with him. 

of wine.' Then he embraced the knight. Then they led him with torches to his 

and kissed him thrice, as solemnly as he chamber, and brought him to his bqd to 
might. 35 rest. That he slept soundly I may not 

* Of a sooth,' quoth the other, * ye say, for the morrow gave him much to 
have good luck in the matter of this think on. Let him rest awhile, for he 
covenant, if ye made a good exchange ! ' was near that which he sought, and if ye 

' Yet, it matters naught of the ex- will but listen to me I will tell ye how it 
change,' quoth Gawain, ' since what 1 40 fared with him thereafter, 
owe is swiftly paid.' 

' Marry,' said the other, ' mine is IV 

behind, for I have hunted all this day, Now the New Year drew nigh, and the 
and naught have I got but this foul fox- night passed, and the day chased the 
skm, and that is but poor payment for 45 darkness, as is God's will; but wild 
three such kisses as ye have here given weather wakened therewith. The clouds 
"^^- cast the cold to the earth, with enough 

'Enough, quoth Sir Gawain, 'I thank of the north to slay them that lacked 
ye, by the Rood.' clothing. The snow drave smartly, and 

Then the lord told them of his hunting, 50 the whistling wind blew from the heights, 
and how the fox had been slain. and made great drifts in the valleys. 

With mirth and minstrelsy, and dainties The knight, lying in his bed, listened^ for 
at their will, they made them as merry as though his eyes were shut, he might sleep 
a folk well might till 't was time for them but little, and hearkened every cock that 
to sever, for at last they must needs be- 55 crew, 
take them to their beds. Then the knight He arose ere the day broke, by the light 



lii ' APPENDIX 



of a lamp that burned in his chamber, may he give it ever good fortmie.' Then 
and called to his chamberlain, bidding the drawbridge was let down, and the 
him bring his armor and saddle his steed. broad gates unbarred and opened on both 
The other gat him up, and fetched his sides; the knight crossed himself, and 
garments, and robed Sir Gawain. 5 passed through the gateway, and praised 

First he clad him in his clothes to keep the porter, who knelt before the prince, 
off the cold, and then in his harness, and gave him good-day, and commended 
which was well and fairly kept. Both him to God. Thus the knight went on 
hauberk and plates were well burnished, his way with the one man who should 
the rings of the rich byrnie freed from lo guide him to that dread place where he 
rust, and all as fresh as at first, so that should receive rueful payment, 
the knight was fain to thank them. Then The two went by hedges where the 

he did on each piece, and bade them bring boughs were bare, and climbed the cliffs 
his steed, while he put the fairest raiment where the cold clings. Naught fell from 
on himself ; his coat with its fair cogni- 15 the heavens, but 't was ill beneath them ; 
zance, adorned with precious stones upon mist brooded over the moor and hung on 
velvet, with broidered seams, and all fur- the mountains; each hill had a cap, a 
red within with costly skins. And he left great cloak, of mist. The streams foamed 
not the lace, the lady's gift, that Gawain and bubbled between their banks, dashing 
forgot not, for his own good. When he 20 sparkling on the shores where they 
had girded on his sword he wrapped the shelved downwards. Rugged and dan- 
gift twice about him, swathed around his gerous was the way through the woods, 
waist. The girdle of green silk set gaily till it was time for the sun-rising. Then 
and well upon the royal red cloth, rich were they on a high hill; the snow lay 
to behold, but the knight ware it not for 25 white beside them, and the man who rode 
pride of the pendants, polished though with Gawain drew rein by his master, 
they were with fair gold that gleamed ' Sir,' he said, ' I have brought ye 

brightly on the ends, but to save himself hither, and now ye are not far from the 
from sword and knife, when it behooved place that ye have sought so specially, 
him to abide his hurt without question. 30 But I will tell ye for sooth, since I know 
With that the hero went forth, and ye well, and ye are such a knight as I 
thanked that kindly folk full often. well love, would ye follow my counsel ye 

Then was Gringalet ready, that was would fare the better. The place whither 
greai and strong, and had been well cared ye go is accounted full perilous, for he 
for and tended in every wise ; in fair con- 35 who liveth in that waste is the worst on 
dition was that proud steed, and fit for a earth, for he is strong and fierce; and 
journey. Then Gawain went to him, and loveth to deal mighty blows; taller he is 
looked on his coat, and said by his sooth, than any man on earth, and greater of 
' There is a folk in this place that think- frame than any four in Arthur's court, 
eth on honor; much joy may they have, 40 or in any other. And this is his custom 
and the lord who maintains them, and at the Green Chapel; there may no man 
may all good betide that lovely lady all pass by that place, however proud his 
her life long. Since they for charity arms, but he does him to death by force 
cherish a guest, and hold honor in their of his hand, for he is a discourteous 
hands, may he who holds the heaven on 45 knight, and shows no mercy. Be he 
high requite them, and also ye all. And churl or chaplain who rides by that 
if I might live anywhile on earth, I would chapel, monk or mass-priest, or any man 
give ye full reward, readily, if so I else, he thinks it as pleasant to slay them 
might.' Then he set foot in the stirrup as to pass alive himself. Therefore, I 
and bestrode his steed, and his squire 50 tell ye, as sooth as ye sit in saddle, if 
gave him his shield, which he laid on his ye come there and that knight know it, 
shoulder. Then he smote Gringalet with ye shall be slain, though ye had twenty 
his golden spurs, and the steed pranced lives ; trow me that truly ! He has 
on the stones and would stand no longer, dwelt here full long and seen many a 

By that his man was mounted, who 55 combat ; ye may not defend ye against 
bare his spear and lance, and Gawain his blows. Therefore, good Sir Gawain, 
quoth, ' I commend this castle to Christ, let the man be, and get ye away some 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT liii 

other road; for God's sake seek ye an- of land by a bank beside tiic stream 
other land, and there may Christ speed where it ran swiftly; the water bubbled 
ye ! And I will hie me home again, and within as if boiling. The knight turned 
I promise ye further that I will swear by his steed to the mound, and lighted down 
God and the saints, or any other oath ye 5 and tied the rein to the branch of a lin- 
please, that I will keep counsel faithfully, den; and he turned to the mound and 
and never let any wit the tale that ye walked round it, questioning with him- 
fled for fear of any man.' self what it might be. It had a hole at 

' Gramercy,' quoth Gawain, but ill- the end and at either side, and was over- 
pleased. ' Good fortune be his who lo grown with clumps of grass, and it was 
wishes me good, and that thou wouldst hollow within as an old cave or the crev- 
keep faith with me I will believe; but ice of a crag; he knew not what it might 
didst thou keep it never so truly, an I be. 

passed hei e and fled for fear as thou say- ' Ah,' quoth Gawain, * can this be the 

est, thap -»./ere I a coward knight, and 15 Green Chapel ? Here might the devil 
mighl.:-not be held guiltless. So I will to say his matins at midnight ! Now I wis 
the chapel let chance what may, and talk there is wizardry here. 'T is an ugly 
with that man, even as I may list, oratory, all overgrown with grass, and 
whether for weal or for woe as fate may 't would well beseem that fellow in green 
have it. Fierce though he may be in 20 to say his devotions on devil's wise, 
fight, yet God knoweth well how to save Now feel I in five wits, 't is the foul 
his servants.' fiend himself who hath set me this tryst, 

' Well,' quoth the other, ' now that ye to destroy me here ! This is a chapel of 
have said so much that ye will take your mischance : ill-luck betide it, 't is the 
own harm on yourself, and ye be pleased 25 cursedest kirk that ever I came in ! ' 
to lose your life, I will neither let nor Helmet on head and lance in hand, he 

keep ye. Have here your helm and the came up to the rough dwelling, when he 
spear in your hand, and ride down this heard over the high hill beyond the brook, 
same road beside the rock till ye come as it were in a bank, a wondrous fierce 
to the bottom of the valley, and there 30 noise, that rang in the cliff as if it would 
look a little to the left hand, and ye shall cleaA^e asunder. 'T was as if one ground 
see in that vale the chapel, and the grim a scythe on a grindstone, it whirred and 
man who keeps it. Now fare ye well, whetted like water on a mill-wheel and 
noble Gawain; for all the gold on earth rushed and rang, terrible to hear. 
I would not go with ye nor bear ye 35 ' By God,' quoth Gawain, ' I trow 
fellowship one step further.' With that that gear is preparing for the knight who 
the man turned his bridle into the wood, will meet me here. Alas ! naught may 
smote the horse with his spurs as hard help me, yet should my life be forfeit, I 
as he could, and galloped off, leaving the fear not a jot ! ' With that he called 
knight alone. 40 aloud. ' Who waiteth in this place to 

Quoth Gawain, 'I will neither greet give me tryst. Now is Gawain come 
nor moan, but commend myself to God, hither: if any man will aught of him let 
and yield me to his will.' him hasten hither now or never.' 

Then the knight spurred Gringalet, and ' Stay,' quoth one on the bank above 

rode adown the path close in by a bank 45 his head, ' and ye shall speedily have that 
beside a gi-ove. So he rode through the which I promised ye.' Yet for a while 
rough thicket, right into the dale, and the noise of whetting went on ere he 
there he halted, for it seemed him wild appeared, and then he came forth from a 
enough. No sign of a chapel could he cave in the crag with a fell weapon, a 
see, but high and burnt banks on either 50 Danish axe newly dight, wherewith to 
side and rough rugged crags with great deal the blow. An evil head it had, four 
stones above. An ill-looking place he feet large, no less, sharply ground, and 
thought it. bound to- the handle by the lace that 

Then he drew in his horse and looked gleamed brightly. And the knight him- 
round to seek the chapel, but he saw 55 self was all green as before, face and 
none and thought it strange. Then he foot, locks and beard, but now he was 
saw as it were a mound on a level space afoot. When he came to the water he 



liv APPENDIX 



would not wade it, but sprang over with do it out of hand, for I will stand thee 
the pole of his axe, and strode boldly over a stroke and move no more till thine axe 
the bent that was white with snow. have hit me — my troth on it.' 

Sir Gawain went to meet him, but he ' Have at thee, then,' quoth the other, 

made no low bow. The other said, ' Now, 5 and heaved aloft the axe with fierce mien, 
fair sir, one may trust thee to keep tryst. as if he were mad. He struck at him 
Thou art welcome, Gawain, to my place. fiercely but wounded him not, withholding 
Thou hast timed thy coming as befits a his hand ere it might strike him. 
true man. Thou knowest the covenant Gawain abode the stroke, and flinched 

set between us : at this time twelve lo in no limb, but stood still as a stone or 
months agone thou didst take that which the stump of a tree that is fast rooted 
fell to thee, and I at this New Year will in the rocky ground with a hundred roots, 
readily requite thee. We are in this val- Then spake gaily the man in green, 

ley, verily alone, here are no knights to ' So now thou hast thine heart whole it 
sever us, do what we will. Have off thy 15 behooves me to smite. Hold aside thy 
helm from thine head, and have here thy hood that Arthur gave thee, and keep thy 
pay; make me no more talking than I neck thus bent lest it cover it again.' 
did then when thou didst strike off my Then Gawain said angrily, ' Why talk 

head with one blow.' on thus? Thou dost threaten too long. 

' Nay,' quoth Gawain, ' by God that 20 1 hope thy heart misgives thee.' 
gave me life, I shall make no moan what- ' For sooth,' quoth the other, ' so 

ever befall me, but make thou ready for fiercely thou speakest I will no longer let 
the blow and I shall stand still and say thine errand wait its reward.' Then he 
never a word to thee, do as thou wilt.' braced himself to strike, frowning with 

With that he bent his head and showed 25 lips and brow, 't was no marvel that it 
his neck all bare, and made as if he had pleased but ill him who hoped for no 
no fear, for he would not be thought a- rescue. He lifted the axe lightly and let 
dread. it fall with the edge of the blade on the 

Then the Green Knight made him bare neck. Though he struck swiftly, it 
ready, and grasped his grim weapon to 30 hurt him no more than on the one side 
smite Gawain. With all his force he where it severed the skin. The sharp 
bore it aloft with a mighty feint of slay- blade cut into the flesh so that the blood 
ing him: had it fallen as straight as he ran over his shoulder to the ground. - 
aimed he who was ever doughty of deed And when the knight saw the blood stain- 
had been slain by the blow. But Ga- 35 ing the snow, he sprang forth, swift- 
wain swerved aside as the axe came glid- foot, more than a spear's length, seized 
ing down to slay him as he stood, and his helmet and set it on his head, cast his 
shrank a little with the shoulders, for shield over his shoulder, drew out his 
the sharp iron. The other heaved up the bright sword, and spake boldly (never 
blade and rebuked the prince with many 40 since he was born was he half so blithe), 
proud words : ' Stop, Sir Knight, bid me no more blows. 

' Thou art not Gawain,' he said, ' who I have stood a stroke here without flinch- 
is held so valiant, that never feared he ing, and if thou give me another, I shall 
man by hill or vale, but thou shrinkest requite thee, and give thee as good agair 
for fear ere thou feelest hurt. Such 45 By the covenant made betwixt us in 
cowardice did I never hear of Gawain ! Arthur's hall but one blow falls to me 
Neither did / flinch from thy blow, or here. Halt, therefore.' 
make strife in King Arthur's hall. My Then the Green Knight drew off from 

head fell to my feet, and yet I fled not; him and leaned on his axe, setting the 
but thou didst wax faint of heart ere 50 shaft on the ground, and looked on Ga- 
any harm befell. Wherefore must I be wain as he stood all armed and faced 
deemed the braver knight.' him fearlessly — at heart it pleased him 

Quoth Gawain, ' I shrank once, but so well. Then he spake merrily in a loud 
will I no more ; though an my head fall voice, and said to the knight, ' Bold sir, 
on the stones I cannot replace it. But 55 be not so fierce ; no man here hath done 
haste. Sir Knight, by thy faith, and bring thee wrong, nor will do, save by cove- 
me to the point, deal me my destiny, and nant, as we made at Arthur's court. I 



SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT ]v 

promised thee a blow and thou hast it — thou wast born. And this girdle that is 
hold thyself well paid ! I release thee of wrought with gold and green, like my rai- 
all other claims. If I had been so minded ment, do I give thee, Sir Gawain, that 
I might perchance have given thee a thou mayest think upon this chance when 
rougher buffet. First I menaced thee 5 thou goest forth among princes of re- 
with a feigned one, and hurt t^ee not for nown, and keep this for a token of the 
the covenant that we made in the first adventure of the Green Chapel, as it 
night, and which thou didst hold truly. chanced between chivalrous knights. 
All the gain didst thou give me as a true And thou shalt come again with me to my 
man should. The other feint I proffered lo dwelling and pass the rest of this feast in 
thee for the morrow: my fair wife kissed gladness.' Then the lord laid hold of him, 
thee, and thou didst give me her kisses and said, ' I wot we shall soon make peace 

— for both those days I gave thee two with my wife, who was thy bitter enemy.' 
Mows without scathe — true man, true ' Nay, forsooth,' said Sir Gawain, and 
return. But the third time thou didst i5 seized his helmet and took it off swiftly, 
fail, and therefore hadst thou that blow. and thanked the knight : ' I have fared ill, 
For 't is my weed thou wearest, that same may bliss betide thee, and may he who 
woven girdle, my own wife wrought it, rules all things reward thee swiftly, 
that do I wot for sooth. Now know I Commend me to that courteous lady, thy 
well thy kisses, and thy conversation, and 20 fair wife, and to the other my honored la- 
the wooing of my wife, for 't was mine dies, who have beguiled their knight with 
own doing. I sent her to try thee, and in skilful craft. But 'tis no marvel if one be 
sooth I think thou art the most faultless made a fool and brought to sorrow by 
knight that ever trod earth. As a pearl women's wiles, for so was Adam beguiled 
among white peas is of more worth than 25 by one, and Solomon by many, and Sam- 
they, so is Gawain, i' faith, by other son all too soon, for Delilah dealt him his 
knights. But thou didst lack a little, Sir doom; and David thereafter was wedded 
Knight, and wast wanting in loyalty, yet with Bathsheba, which brought him much 
that was for no evil work, nor for wooing sorrow — if one might love a woman and 
neither, but because thou lovedst thy life 30 believe her not, 't were great gain ! And 

— therefore I blame thee the less.' since all they were beguiled by women. 
Then the other stood a great while, methinks 't is the less blame to me that I 

still sorely angered and vexed within was misled ! But as for thy girdle, that 
himself; all the blood flew to his face, will I take with good will, not for gain of 
and he shrank for shame as the Green 35 the gold, nor for samite, nor silk, nor the 
Knight spake; and the first words he costly pendants, neither for weal nor for 
said were, ' Cursed be ye, cowardice and worship, but in sign of my frailty. I 
covetousness, for in ye is the destruction shall look upon it when I ride in renown 
of virtue.' Then he loosed the girdle, and remind myself of the fault and faint- 
and gave it to the knight. ' Lo, take 40 ness of the flesh ; and so when pride up- 
there the falsity, may foul befall it ! For lifts me for prowess of arms, the sight of 
fear of thy blow cowardice bade me make this lace shall humble my heart. But one 
friends with covetousness and forsake the thing would I pray, if it displease thee 
customs of largess and loyalty, which not : since thou art lord of yonder land 
befit all knights. Now am I faulty and wherein I have dwelt, tell me what thy 
false and have been afeared : from 45 rightful name may be, and I will ask no 
treachery and untruth come sorrow and more." 

care. I avow to thee, Sir Knight, that I 'That will I truly,' quoth the other, 

have ill done ; do then thy will. I shall ' Bernlak de Hautdesert am I called in this 
be more wary hereafter.' 50 land. Morgain le Fay dwelleth in mine 

Then the other laughed and said gaily, house, and through knowledge of clerkly 
' I wot I am whole of the hurt I had, and craft hath she taken many. For long 
thou hast made such free confession of time was she the mistress of Merlin, who 
thy misdeeds, and hast so borne the pen- knew well all you knights of the court, 
ance of mine axe edge, that I hold thee 55 Morgain the goddess is she called there- 
absolved from that sin, and purged as fore, and there is none so haughty but she 
clean as if thou hadst never sinned since can bring him low. She sent me in this 



Ivi APPENDIX 



guise to yon fair hall to test the truth of sought to embrace him. They asked him 
the renown that is spread abroad of the how he had fared, and he told them all 
valor of the Round Table. She taught that had chanced to him — the adventure 
me this marvel to betray your wits, to vex of the chapel, the fashion of the knight, 
Guinevere and fright her to death by the 5 the love of the lady — at last of the lace, 
man who spake with his head in his hand He showed them the wound in the neck 
at the high table. That is she who is at which he won for his disloyalty at the 
home, that ancient lady, she is even thine hand of the knight; the blood flew to his 
aunt, Arthur's half-sister, the daughter face for shame as he told the tale, 
of the Duchess of Tintagel, who after- lo ' Lo, lady,' he quoth, and handled the 
ward married King Uther. Therefore I lace, ' this is the bond of the blame that I 
bid thee, knight, come to thine aunt, and bear in my neck, this is the harm and the 
make merry in thine house; my folk love loss I have suffered, the cowardice and 
thee, and I wish thee as well as any man covetousness in which I was caught, the 
on earth, by my faith, for thy true deal- i5 token of my covenant in which I was 
ino-.' taken. And I must needs wear it so long 

But Sir Gawain said nay, he would in as I live, for none may hide his harm, 
no wise do so; so they embraced and but undone it may not be, for if it hath 
kissed, and commended each other to the clung to thee once, it may never be sev- 
Prince of Paradise, and parted right there, 20 ered.' 

on the cold ground. Gawain on his steed Then the king comforted the knight, 

rode swiftly to the king's hall, and the and the court laughed loudly at the tale, 
Green Knight got him whithersoever he and all made accord that the lords and the 
would. ladies who belonged to the Round Table, 

Sir Gawain, who had thus won grace 25 each hero among them, should wear 
of his life, rode through wild ways on bound about him a baldric of bright green 
Gringalet; oft he lodged in a house, and for the sake of Sir Gawain. And to this 
oft without, and many adventures did he was agreed all the honor of the Round 
have and came off victor full often, as at Table, and he who ware it was honored 
this time I cannot relate in tale. The 30 the more thereafter, as it is testified in the 
hurt that he had in his neck was healed, book of romance. That in Arthur's days 
he bare the shining girdle as a baldric this adventure befell, the book of Brutus 
bound by his side, and made fast with a bears witness. For since that bold knight 
knot 'neath his left arm, in token that he came hither first, and the siege and the 
was taken in a fault — and thus he came 35 assault were ceased at Troy, I wis 
in safety again to the court. 

Then joy awakened in that dwelling Many a venture herebefore 

when the king knew that the good Sir Hath fallen such as this: 

Gawain was come, for he deemed it gain. May He that bare the crown of thorn 

King Arthur kissed the knight, and the 40 Brmg us unto His bhss. ^^^^^^ 

queen also, and many valiant knights '^^ * 



NOTES 



CHAUCER: THE CANTERBURY TALES 
THE PROLOGUE 

The following are a few practical suggestions as 
to pronunciation, comparison being made to sounds 
in modern words: 

VOWELS 

a — ^ as in father. 

e long (often written ee) — as the a in hate. 

e short — • as in get. 

i (often y) long — as the vowel in icet. 

i (often y) shprt - — as in fm. 

o (often oo) long — as in hope. 

o short — - as in not. 

u (sometimes ew) long — -as in French nature, 
German griin. 

u short — as in fwll. Note the absence of our 
modern so-called ' short u,* as in modern Eng- 
lish biit. 

DIPHTHONGS 
ai, ay, ei, ey — as in stroight. 
au, aui ~^ as ow in now. 
ou, ow — as in throKgh. 

CONSONANTS 
ch — as tch in itch. 

h (not initial), g/j — guttural as ch in German 
Nacht. 



2. I. shoures soote, sweet showers. 

2. droghte. dryness. 

3. swich licour, such liquor (sap). 

4. vertu, power. 

5. Zephirus, the west wind, eek, also. 

6. holt, wood, grove, heeth, heath, open coun- 
try. 

7. croppes, shoots. yonge sonne, young sun, — 
young because it had recently entered upon its an- 
nual course through the signs of the zodiac. 

8. Hath . . . y-ronne. Ram, one of the signs 
of the zodiac, Aries. ' Hath run his half-course 
in the Ram ' means that it was past the eleventh of 
April. ' 

9. fowles, birds in general. 

10. ye, eye. 

11. So . . . cor ages, so nature excites them 
in their hearts (feelings). 

13. palmers, pilgrims to foreign parts. Orig- 
inally, a palmer was one who made a pilgrimage to 



the Holy Land and brought home a palm-branch as 
a token, strondes, shores. 

14. feme hahves couthe, distant shrines known. 

16. wende, go. 

J/, blisftil, blessed, martir, Thomas a Becket. 
seke, seek. 

18. That . . . seke, 'who hath helped them 
when they were sick.' Notice the riming, — seke 
. . . seke, — of identical forms that have differ- 
ent meanings. 

19. bifel, it befell. 

20. Southwerk, Southwark, on the south bank of 
the Thames, across from London. Tabard, an inn, 
of which the sign was a tabard, or sleeveless 
jacket. 

22. corage, heart, 
24. ivel, full, quitCi 

25—26. by aventure . . . felawshipe, by chance 
fallen into association. 

27. wolden ryde, wished to ride. 

28. ivyde, spacious. 

29. csed atte beste, accommodated in the best 
manner. 

30. to rcste, gone to rest, set. 

31. everichon, every one. 

32. of hir felawshipe anon, of their company im- 
mediately. 

33. forward, agreement. 

34. ther . . . devyse, to that place that I tell 
you of. 

35. natheles, nevertheless. 

27. Me , . , resoun, it seems to me reason- 
able. 

38. condicioun, standing. 

39-40. Of . . . degree. Of each of them, as 
it appeared to me, and of what sort they were, and 
of what social class. 

41. eek, also, array, dress. 

43. worthy, honorable. 

45. chivalrye, knighthood. 

46. fredoin, liberality. 

47. werre, war. 

48. therto, besides that, ferre, farther. 

49. hethenesse, heathen lands. 
51. Alisaundre, Alexandria. 

52-53. Ful . . . Pruce, Very many times, in 
Prussia, he had been placed at the head of the 
table, above the knights of all other nations. 

54. Lettow, Lithuania, reysed, made a military 
expedition. Ruce, Russia. 

55. degree, rank. 

56. Gernade, Granada. 

57. Algesir, modern 



Algeciras. Belmarye, a 



Moorish kingdom in Africa. 



Ivii 



Iviii 



NOTES 



58. Lyeys, in Armenia. Satalye, on the south 
coast of Asia Minor. 

59. Crete See, the Mediterranean. 

60. aryve, landing of troops. 

62. Tramissene, a Moorish kingdom in Africa. 

63. In . . . foo, In the lists (field of combat 
at a tournament) thrice, and always slain his an- 
tagonist. 

64. like, same. 

65. Somtyme, at one time. Palatye, in Asiatic 
Turkey. 

66. Ageyn, against. 

67. sovereyn prys, great renown. 

68. wys, wise. 

69. port, bearing. 

70. vileinye, low speech. 

71. un-to nx> maner zvight, to no kind of man. 
■J2. verray parfit gentil knight, very perfect gen- 
tle knight. 

73. array, dress, costume. 

74. hors, horses, gay, gaudily dressed. 

75. fustian, stout, coarse cloth, wered, wore. 
gipoun, a short coat worn under the armor. 

y6. bismotered, spotted, habergeoun, coat of 
mail. 

77. late y-come from his viage, lately come from 
his journey. 

79. Squyer, esquire, one who attended a knight. 

80. lovyer, lover, lusty, joyful, gay. bacheler, 
H young candidate for knighthood. 

81. lokkes crulle, locks curled. 

83. evene lengths, good stature. 

84. delivere, active. 

85. chivachye, military expedition. 

89. Flaundrcs, Flanders, an ancient country of 
Europe, extending along the North Sea from the 
Strait cf Dover to the mouth of the Schelde. 
Artoys, Picardye, Artois, Picardy, ancient provinces 
of northern France. 

87. space, length of time. 

88. lady, genitive singular, without 's. 

89. embrouded, embroidered, mede, mead. 
91. floytinge, playing the flute. 

95. coude, knew how. endyte, relate, compose. 

96. juste, joust, purtreye, draw, paint. 

97. nightertale, night-time. 

98. sleep, slept. 

99. lowly, modest, servisabk, helpful. 

100. carf, carved. 

loi. yenian, yeoman: a servant of the next de- 
gree above a groom, namo, no more. 

102. him liste ryde, it pleased him to ride. 

104. A sheef of pecok arwes, a sheaf of arrows 
fitted with peacocks' feathers. 

106. takel, implements; here arrows. 

109. not-heed, hair closely cut. 

111. bracer, a guard for the coat-sleeve, used by 
irchers to avoid the friction of the string against 
the cloth. 

112. bokeler, buckler; a small shield. 

114. harneised, equipped. 

115. Crist of re, 'a figure of St. Christopher, used 
as a brooch (Wright).' 

116. bawdrik, baldric, belt. 

117. forster, forester. 
119. coy, quie';, modest. 



120. seynt Loy, Saint Eligius. 

121. cleped, called. 

124. fetisly, neatly, excellently. 

125. After . . . Bowe, after the manner of 
Stratford-le-Bow. This was a monastery near Lon- 
don. The French of the prioress was dialectical, 
not Parisian. 

132. lest, pleasure. 

134. ferthing, a fourth part; hence a small bit. 

136. raughte, reached. 

137. sikerly, certainly, of great disport, readily 
amused. 

138. port, carriage. 

:39— 141. And peyned . . . reverence, and 
took pains to imitate courtly behavior, and to be 
stately in her deportment, and to be esteemed 
worthy of reverence. 

142. conscience, feeling, tenderness. 

143. pitous, compassionate. 

147. wastel breed, bread made of fine flour. 

148. weep, wept. 

149. yerde, rod. 

150. conscience, tenderness. 

151. wimpel, a covering for the neck, pinched, 
closely pleated. 

152. tretys, long and well-proportioned. 

153. ther-to, besides. 

156. hardily, certainly, undergrowe, undergrown, 
stunted. 

157. fetis, neat, well-made. 

159. peire, set. gauded al with grene, provided 
with green gawdies. Gawdies were the larger beads 
in the set. 

160. heng, hung, shene, bright. 

162. Amor vincit omnia, love conquers all things 
(Virgil, Eclog., X, 69). 

164. chapelcyne. The prioress has a female chap- 
lain. 

165. a fair for the maistrye, a fair one for su- 
periority. 

166. out-rydere, outrider, the monastic officer who 
visited the outlying manors belonging to the house. 
venerye, hunting. 

172. liter as, where, keper, head, celle, cell; a 
small monastery or nunnery dependent on a larger 
one. 

173. scint Maure, St. Maur (d. 584)- ^«"' 
Beneit, St. Benedict (d. 543). St. Benedict founded 
the Benedictine order, and St. Maur was his disci- 
ple. 

174. som-del streit, somewhat narrow, strict. 

175. ilke, same. 

176. space, course. 

177. yaf, gave, pulled, plucked. 
182. thilke, that. 

184. What, why. wood, mad. 

185. poure, pore. 

186. swinken, work. 

187. Austin, St. Augustine (d. 604), after whom 
the Augustinian Canons were named. 

187. bit, contracted from 3d. person singular pres- 
ent, biddeth. 

188. swink, toil. 

189. pricasour, a hard rider. 
191. priking, riding. 

193. seigh, saw. pur filed, fringed. 



NOTES 



lix 



154. grys, costly grey fur. 

199. anoint, anointed. 

200. in good point, in good condition. Cf. 
French en bon point. 

201. stepe, prominent. 

202. stemed, shone. Leed, caldron. 

203. botes souple, boots soft. 

205. for-pyned goost, tormented ghost. 

207. palfrey, riding-horse. 

208. frere, friar, wantown, brisk, lively. 

209. limitour, a begging friar to whom was as- 
signed a certain district, within which he might so- 
licit alms, ful solempne, very important. 

210. ordres foure. The four orders of mendicant 
friars were: (i) the Dominicans, or Black Friars; 
(2) the Franciscans, or Grey Friars; (3) the Car- 
melites, or White Friars; (4) the Augustin, or 
Austin Friars. These orders arose in the early part 
of the thirteenth century, can, knows. 

211. daliaunce and fair language, gossip and flat- 
tery. 

216. frankeleyns, wealthy farmers, ovcr-al, every- 
where. 

219. curat, parish priest. 

220. licentiat, provided with a licence from the 
Pope to hear confession in all places. 

223. ycve, give. 

224. Ther . . , pitaunce, where he knew he 
was sure to have good things to eat. 

225. povre, poor, yive, give. 

226. y-shrive, confessed, shriven. 

227. yaf, gave, dorste make avaunt, dared make 
boast, dared assert confidently. 

228. wisle, knew. 

230. He . . . smerte. He cannot weep, al- 
though it may pain him sorely. 

232. Men moot yeve, one ought to give. 
23Z- tipet, hood, farsed, stuffed. 
2^6. rote, a kind of violin. 

237. yeddinges, songs, prys, prize. 

238. flour-de-lys, lily. 

239. champioun, athlete. 

241. hostiler, inn-keeper, tappestere, female tap- 
ster. 

242. Bet . . . beggestere, better than a leper 
or a female beggar. 

244. as by his facultee, considering his ability. 

246. honest, becoming, avaunce, profit. 

247. poraille, poor people, rabble. 

248. riche, rich people, vitaille, victuals. 

249—250. And over-al . . . servyse, And every- 
where where profit was likely to arise, he was po- 
lite, and humble in offering his services. 

251. vertuous, efficient. 

253. sho, shoe. 

254. In principio. In the beginning, — the opening 
words of the Gospel according to St. John. 

256. purchas, proceeds from begging, reifte, reg- 
ular income. 

257. rage, romp, as , » whelpe, exactly as if 
he were a puppy. 

258. love-dayes, days fixed for 'settling differences 
by umpire, without having recourse to law or vio- 
lence, mochel, greatly. 

260. cope, an outer vestment for a cleric. 
262. semi-cope, short cope. 



263. presse, mold. 

264. lipsed, lisped. 

271. mottelee, motley costume, hye, high. 

273. fetisly, see i. 124. 

274. resons, opinions. 

275. Sowninge . . , winning, tending always 
to the increase of his profit. 

276. kept, guarded. 

277. Middelburgh, a port on an island off the 
coast of th* Netherlands. Orewelle, an English 
port, across the North Sea from Middelburgh, at the 
mouth of the Orwell River. 

278. Wei . , . selle, well knew how to sell 
crowns in exchange. Shceldes, or crowns, were 
valued at 3 shillings 4 pence. 

279. bisette, used. 

280. wiste, knew. 

281-282. So estatly . . . chevisaunce. So cere- 
moniously did he order his bargains and agreements 
lor borrowing money. 

283. sothe, truly. 

284. noot, know not. 

285. Clerk, scholar. 

286. y-go, gone. 

288. nas, was not. 

289. holwe, hollow, soberly, adj. sad, solemn. 

290. overest courtepy, uppermost short cloak. 

291. benefice, a church office endowed with a 
revenue. 

292. office, secular office. 

293. hitn . . . have, it was dearer to him to 
have. 

295. Aristotle, Greek philosopher, 3S4-322 B. C. 

296. fithele, fiddle, sautrye, psaltery; an instru- 
ment like a zither, having a sounding-box under the 
strings. « 

297-8. philosophre, used in the double sense of 
philosopher and alchemist. It was commonly be- 
lieved that alchemists could produce gold. 

299. hente, seize, get. 

302. Of hem . . . scoleye, of those who gave 
him (money) with which to go to school. 

303. cure, care. 

304. O, one. 

305. in . . . reverence, in due form and dig- 
nity. 

306. hy sentence, lofty meaning. 

307. sowninge in, conducive to. 

309. Sergeant of the Lawe, a law officer of the 
crown, war, cautious. 

310. parvys, church-porch. It was customary for 
lawyers to meet for consultation at the portico of 
St. Paul's, London. 

312. reverence, dignity. 

313. swich, such. 

314. assyse, session of a court. 

315. By patente . • . commissioun, by letter 
patent (definite legal authorization) or by full (un- 
limited) authorization, 

318. purchasour, conveyancer. 

319. fee simple, held in absolute possession. 

320. purchasing, conveyancing, infect, invalid. 
323. In termes . . . alle, he had (in mind) 

exactly all the cases and decisions. 

325. Therto, moreover, endyte, write, make, 
draw up. 



NOTES 



326. pinche at, find fault with. 

327. coude . . . rote, knew he fully by rote. 

328. medlee cote, a coat of mixed stuff or color. 

329. ceint, girdle, harres, ornaments, or studs, 
of a girdle. 

330. array, costume. 

331. Frankeleyn, a wealthy farmer. 

332. herd, beard, dayesye, daisy. 

333. ' The old school of medicine, following Ga- 
len, supposed that there were four " humours," vis. 
hot, cold, moist, and dry, and four complexions or 
temperaments of men, vis. the sanguine, the chol- 
eric, the phlegmatic, and the melancholy. The man 
of sanguine complexion abounded in hot and moist 
humours (Skeat).' See note to line 421. 

334. by the morzve, in the morning, a sop in 
wyn, wine with pieces of cake in it. 

335. delyl, pleasure, wane, custom. 

336. Epicurus (d, 270 B. C), a Greek philosopher 
who assumed pleasure to be the highest good. 

337. plcyn, full. 

340. Seyiit lulian; ' St. Julian was eminent for 
providing his votaries with good lodgings and ac- 
commodations of all sorts (Chambers).' 

341. ahvey after oon, always up to the standard. 

342. envyned, stored with wine. 

343. bake mete, meat pie. 

344. plentevous, plenteous. 

345. snewed, snowed. 

347. after, according to. 

348. soper, supper. 

349. mewe, coop. 

350. breem, bream, a fresh water fish, luce, pike. 
stewe, fishpond. 

351. but-if, unless. 

352. g^e, utensils. 

353. table dormant, a table fixed to the floor, irre- 
movable. The Franklin kept open house. 

35S. sessiouns, meetings of the justices of the 
peace. 

357. anlas, a knife or dagger, gipser, pouch. 

358. heng, hung, morne, morning. 

359. shirreve, 'governor of a county (Skeat)'; 
our modern word sheriff, countour, accountant. 

360. vavasour, a sub-vassal of a king's vassal. 

362. Webbe, weaver. Tapicer, upholsterer. 

363. in liveree, in one livery. 

364. solempne, dignified, fraternitee, gild. 

365. hir gere apyked, their apparel trimmed. 

366. y-chaped, provided with chapes, caps of 
metal at the end of the sheath. 

368. everydeel, every part. 

369. burgeys, burgess, citizen. 

370. To , . . deys, to sit on a dais in a gild- 
^all. 

371. Everich, each, can, knows. 

372. shaply, adapted, fit. 

2yz- catel, property, ynogh, enough, rente, in- 
come. 

376. y-clept, called. 

377. vigilyes. ' It was the manner in times past, 
upon festival evens, called vigiliae, for parishioners 
to meet in their church-houses or church-yards, and 
there to have a drinking-fit for the time (Speght).' 
al bifore, before all the others. 



378. roialliche y-bore, royally borne. 

379. for the noi-es, for the occasion. 

380. mary-bones, marrow-bones. 

381. poudre-mar chant, a sharp flavoring powder. 
galingale, root of sweet cyperus. 

384. mortreux, a kind of soup. 

385. thoughte me, seemed to me. 

386. mormal, cancer, open sore. 

387. blankmangcr, ' a compound made of capon 
minced, with rice, milk, sugar, and almonds 
(Skeat).' 

388. zuoning . . . weste, dwelling far west- 
ward. 

389. zvoot, know. Dertemottthe, Dartmouth, an 
important sea-port on the southwest coast of Eng- 
land. 

390. rouncy, nag. conthe, knew how. 

391. folding, coarse cloth. 

392. laas, cord, lace. 

396—7. Ful . . . sleep. Very many a draught 
of wine had he drawn (stolen!) from Bordeaux-way, 
while the merchant slept. 

398. Of nyce . . . keep, lie had no regard 
for a fussy conscience. 

400. By water . . . land, i.e., he made them 
' walk the plank.' 

402.' stremes, currents, liim bisydes, near him. 

403. herberwe, harbor, mone, moon, lodemen- 
age, pilotage. 

404. Elulle, Hull. Cartage, Carthage. 

405. undertake, assume responsibility. 

408. Gootlond, Gottland, an island in the Baltic 
sea. Finistere, Cape Finisterre, on the northern 
coast of Spain. 

409. cryke, creek, inlet. 

414. astronomye, astrology. 

415. kepte, watched. 

416. houres, astrological hours. 'A great portion 
of the medical science of the middle ages depended 
upon astrological and other superstitious observ- 
ances (Wright).' 

417. fortunen, predict, ascendent, the point of 
the zodiacal circle which happens to be ascending 
above the horizon at a given moment. 

418. images. ' It was believed that images of men 
and animals could be made of certain substances and 
at certain times, and could be so treated as to cause 
good or evil to a patient, by means of magical and 
planetary influences (Skeat).' 

421. humour. The four elementary qualities, or 
humours, were hot, cold, dry, and moist. The ex- 
cess of some one humor was thought to cause dis- 
ease. The mixture of humors in a man determined 
his complexion, or temperament. The sanguine 
complexion was thought to be hot and moist; the 
phlegmatic, cold and moist; the choleric, hot and 
dry; the melancholy, cold and dry. 

422. parfit practisour, perfect practitioner. 
424. bote, remedy. ^ 

426. drogges, drugs, letuaries, electuaries, syrups. 

428. Hir, their. 

429. Esculapius; ^sculapius, god of medicine. 

430. Deiscoridcs, Dioscorides, a Greek physician 
of the 2d century. Rufus, a Greek physician of the 
ist century. 



NOTES 



Ixi 



431. ypocras, Hippocrates, a Greek physician 
(460— c. 377 B. C). Galien, Galen, a Greek physi- 
cian of the 2d century. 

431-^3. Haly, Serapion, Rhazis, Avicenna, Aver- 
roes, and John Damascene were Arabian medical 
authorities. 

433—4- Constantinus Afer, Bernardus Gordonius, 
John Gatisden, and Gilbertus AngUcus were Euro- 
pean medical authorities of the later middle ages. 

435. measurable, moderate. 

439. sangwin, red. pers, blue. 

440. taffata, sendal, two kinds of tliin silk. 

441. esy of dispence, moderate in expenditure. 
443. For, since, because. 

445". of bisyde Bathe, from (a place) near Bath. 

446. som-del somewhat, scathe, misfortune, 

447. haunt, practice, use. 

448. passed, surpassed. Yprcs, Gaunt, Ypres, 
Ghent, cities in Flanders. 

450. to the offring. The people themselves of- 
fered bread and wine for consecration at mass. 

453. coverchiefs, coverings for the head, ground, 
texture. 

454. weyeden, weighed. 

456. hosen, leggings. 

457. streite y-teyd, tightly fastened, moiste, soft. 

460. at chirche-dore. The marriage ceremony 
took place at the church-porch. 

461. withouten, besides. 

462. fl.s nouthe, now, at present. 

465. Boloigne, Boulogne. 

466. In Galice at seint lame, the shrine of St. 
James at Compostella in Galicia. Coloigne, Cologne. 
The Wife of Bath had had wide experience in 
making pilgrimages. 

467. coude, knew. 

468. Gat-tothed, goat-toothed, lascivious. 

469. amblere, ambling horse. 

470. Y-wimpled, provided with a wimple. 

471. targe, target, shield. 

472. foot-mantel, an outer skirt. 

474. carpc, prate. 

475. remedies of love, allusion to title and con- 
tent of Ovid's Remedia Amoris. 

476. the olde daunce, the old game. 
478. Persoun, parish priest. 

482. parisshens, parishioners. 

485. y-preved ofte sythes, proved oftentimes. 

486. cursen for his tythes, excommunicate for not 
paying the tithes that were due him. 

487. yeven, out of doute, give, without doubt. 

489. offring, voluntary gifts of his parishioners. 
subslaunce, regular income derived from his 
benefice. 

490. suffisaunce, a sufficiency. 

492. ne lafte not, left not, ceased not. 

493. meschief, mishap. 

494. ferreste, farthest, moclie and lyte, great 
and small. 

496. ensample, example, yaf, gave. 

497. wroghte, wrought, worked. 

498. Out of the gospel, see Matthew V., 19. tho, 
the. 

502. lewe.d, ignorant. 

507. He did not leave his parish duties to be per- 
formed by a stranger. 



508. leet, left. 

509. seynt Poules, St. Paul's. 

510. chaunterie, chantry; 'an endowment for the 
payment of a priest to sing mass, agreeably to the 
appointment of the founder (Skeat).' 

SI I. bretharhed, brotherhood, withholde, sup- 
ported. 

516. despitous, contemptuous. 

517. daungcrous, unapproachable, digne, full of 
dignity, repellent. 

519. fairnesse, a fair life. 
523. snibben, reprimand. 

525. waytcd after, looked for. 

526. spyced, fussy. 

530. y-lad, led, carried, fother, load. 

531. swinkere, worker. 

534. thogh . . . smerte, though it pleased him 
or hurt him. 

535. thanne, then. 

536. dyke, make ditches, delve, dig. 

540. his propre swink, his own labor, catel, 
property. 

541. tabard, sleeveless jacket, mere, mare. Per- 
sons of quality did not ride mares. 

542. Reve, steward or bailiff of a manor. 

543. Somfwur, summoner for an ecclesiastical 
court. Pardoner, one who had the Pope's licence 
to sell pardons and indulgences. 

544. Maunciple, manciple, a caterer or steward 
for a college or inn of court. 

545. carl, fellow. 

546. braun, muscle. 

547. over-al ther he cam, everywhere where he 
came. 

548. ram. A ram was the usual prize at a wrest- 
ling-match. 

549. a tliikke knarre, a thick knotted fellow. 

550. nolde hcve of harre, would not heave off its 
hinge. 

551. renning, running. 
554. cop, top. 

557. nose-thirles, nostrils. 

560. langlere, loud talker, goliardeys, a teller of 
ribald stories. 

561. harlotry es, scurrility. 

562. tollen thryes, a part of the corn ground was 
legally taken by a miller in payment for grinding. 
Our miller took thrice the legal allowance. 

563. a thombe of gold, a common expression to 
describe the value of a miller's skill in testing meal 
or flour between the thumb and finger. Pardee, a 
common and mild oath. 

564. we red, wore. 

565. sowne, sound. 

567. temple, an inn of court. 

568. which, whom, achat ours, purchasers. 

570. took by taiile, took by tally, took on credit. 

571. Algate . . . achat. Always he watched 
so in his Tjuying. 

572. 031 biforn, always before. 

574. swich a lewed, such an unlearned. 
577. curious, careful. 

581. his propre good, his own income. 

582. dettelees, without debt, but he were wood, 
unless he were mad. 



Ixii 



NOTES 



583. Or . , . desire. Or live as economically 
as it pleased him to desire. 

584. al a, a whole. 

586. sette . . . cappe, cheated them all. 

587. colerik, see note to 1.421. 

588. ny, nigh, close. 

592. Y-lyk, like, y-sene, visible. 

593. gerner, garner. 

595. wiste, knew, droghte, drought, reyn, rain. 

597. neet, cattle, dayerye, dairy. 

598. hors, horses, stoor, farm stock. 

599. hoolly, wholly. 

600. covenaunt, contract, yaf, gave. 

602. Ther . . . arrerage. No one could prove 
<lim to be in arrears. 

603. herde, herdsman, hyne, hind, farm-laborer. 

604. sleighte, trickery, covyne, deceit. 

605. adrad, afraid, the deeth, pestilence. 

606. waning, dwelling. 

609. astored, provided with stores. 
611. lene, lend, 

613. mister, trade, craft. 

614. wel, very, wrighte, wright, workman, 

615. stot, stallion. 

616. pomcly grey, gray dappled with apple-like 
spots. 

617. surcote, upper coat, pers, blue. 
619. Northfolk, Norfolk. 

621. Tukked he was, his long coat tucked up by 
means of a girdle. 

622. hindreste, hindmost. 

623. Somnour; see note to 1. 543. 

624. cherubinnes, cherub's. 

625. sawceflem, afflicted with pimples, narwe, 
small. 

627. scalled, scabby, hlake, black, piled, scanty, 
thin. 

629. litarge, litharge, white lead. 

630. boras, borax, ceruce, ceruse, cosmetic made 
from white lead, oille of tartre, cream of tartar. 

632. whelkes, pimples. 

633. knobbes, large pimples, 
636. Thanne, then, wood, mad. 
644. grope, test. 

646. Questio quid iuris, The question is, what law 
(is there) ? 

647. harlot, a fellow of low conduct. 
651. atte fulle, fully. 

653. owher, somewhere. 

655. erchedeknes curs, archdeacon's curse, ex- 
communication. 

656. Bitt-if, unless. 

661. wol slee, will slay, assoilling, absolution. 

662. significavit. A writ of excommunication us- 
ually began with this word. 

663. In daunger, within his jurisdiction, gyse, 
manner. 

664. girles, young people of both sexes. • 

665. hir reed, their adviser. 

666. gerland, garland. 

667. ale-stake, a support for a garland in front 
of an ale-house. 

669. Pardoner; see nete to 1. 543. 

670. Rouncivale, a hospital near Charing Cross, 
London. 



burdoun, sang bass to his 



673. bar . 
treble. 

675. heer, hair, wex, wax. 

676. heng, hung, strike of flex, hank of flax. 

677. ounces, thin clusters. 

679. colpons, portions. 

680. for lolitee, for smartness, wered, wore. 

681. trussed up, packed up. 

682. Him thoughte, it seemed to him. let, fash- 
ion. 

685. vernicle, ' a diminutive of Veronike (Ver- 
onica), a copy in miniature of the picture of Christ 
which is supposed to have been miraculously im- 
printed upon a handkerchief preserved in the church 
of St. Peter at Rome (Tyrwhitt).' 

687. Bret-ful, brimful. 

692. Berwik, Berwick, on north east coast of 
England. Ware, in Hertfordshire. 

694. male, bag. pilwe-bear, pillow-case. 

695. lady, genitive singular. 

696. gobet, a small piece. 

697. ivente, walked. 

698. hente, caught hold of. 

699. latoun, a mixed metal, ful of, set with. 

702. person, parson, up-on lond, in the country. 

703. a, one. 

704. tweye, two. 

705. lapes, tricks. 

706. apes, dupes. 

710. alderbest, best of all. 

712. affyle, make smooth. 

716. Thestat, the estate, tharray, the array, ap- 
pearance. 

719. hi g lite, was called. Belle, probably another 
tavern. 

721. baren us, conducted ourselves. 

723, viage, journey, 

726. That . . . vileinye, That you ascribe it 
not to my ill-breeding. 

728. chere, appearance. 

729. hir wordes proprely, their words exactly. 

731. shal telle, has to tell, after, according to. 

732. moot, must. 

733. Everich a, every single, charge, undertak- 
ing. 

734. Al, although. rudeliche, rudely. large, 
freely. 

736. feyne, feign, distort. 

739. brode, broadly. 

740. woot, know^. vileinye, ill-breeding. 
744. Al, although. 

747. everichon, every one. 
750. us teste, it pleased us. 

752. marshal. The ' marshal of the hall ' assigned 
guests to their seats at public festivals according to 
their rank. 

753. stepe, bright. 

754. burgeys, burgess, citizen. Chepe, Cheapside 
in London. 

757. Eek therto, also besides. 
760. our rekeninges, our bills. 

765. herberwe, inn. 

766. wiste, knew. 

768. To doon yow ese, to give you pleasure. 
770. The blisful . . . mede. May the blessed 
martyr give you your reward. 



NOTES 



Ixiii 



772. shapen yow, intend, talen, tell tales. 


14. Of . . . deel. Of poignant sauce she had 


775. disport, sport. 


not the slightest need. 


776. erst, first. 


15. thurgh, through. 


777. And . . . alle. And if it is pleasing to 


17. Repleccioun, overeating. 


you all. 


, 19. hertes suffisaunce, heart's satisfaction. 


781. fader, genitive singular, deed, dead. 


20. lette hir no-thing, prevented her not at all. 


782. But, unless, heed, head. 


21. poplexye shente, apoplexy hurt. 


784. seche, seek. 


25. Seynd, singed, ey or tweye, egg or two. 


785. Us . . , wys. It seemed to us not worth 


26. deye, dairy-woman. 


while to make it a matter of deliberation. 


28. dich, ditch. 


786. avys, consideration. 


30. nas, was not. 


787. as him leste, as it pleased him. 


31, merier, pleasanter, sweeter. 


788. herkneth, listen, 2d pers. plur. imperative. 


32. messe-dayes, mass-days. 


791. shorte, make short. 


33. sikerer, more certain, logge, lodging-place. 


792. viage, journey, tiveye, two. 


34. orlogge, clock. 


79S. aventures, occurrences, whylom, formerly. 


35-8. The cock crew every hour, for fifteen de- 


han, have. 


grees of the equinoctial make an hour. Thanne, 


798. sentence, meaning, content, solas, amuse- 


then. 


ment. 


39. fyn, fine. 


799. our aller cost, the cost of us all. 


40. batailed, indented like a battlement. 


805. withseye, oppose. 


41, bile, bill. leet, jet. 


807. vouche-sauf, grant. 


42. toon, toes. 


809. shape me therfore, prepare myself for it. 


47. paramours, lovers. 


810. othes swore, oaths sworn. 


48. as of, as to. 


816. devys, direction. 


SO. cleped, called. 


819. fet, fetched. 


51. debonaire, gracious. 


820. echoon, each one. 


52. compaignable, companionable. 


823. our aller cok, cock of us all. 


S3, thilke, that same. 


824. gadrede, gathered. 


S4, in hold, in possession. 


825. riden, rode, pas, foot-pace. 


SS. loken in every lith, locked in every limb. 


826. St. Thomas a Watering was two miles from 


59. ' my lief . . . londe,' ' my beloved has 


Southwark. 


gone away,' Probably the refrain of a popular 


828. herkneth; see note to 1. 788. if you leste. 


song. 


if it pleases you. 


61. briddes, birds. 


829. ivoot, know, forivard, agreement, yow re- 


62. bifel, happened. 


corde, call to your mind. 


67. drecched, troubled. 


830. If . . , acorde. If even-song (vespers) 


70. eyleth, ails. 


and matins agree; i.e., if yovi are minded this 


71. verray, true. 


morning as you were last night. 


73. agrief, amiss. 


832. As , . . ale. As surely as I ever hope 


74. me mette, I dreamed, meschief, mishap. 


to be able to drink wine or ale. 


76. my . . . aright, interpret my dream fa- 


835. draweth, draw, 2d pers. plur. imperative. 


vorably. 


ferrer twinnc, farther depart. 


78, me mette, I dreamed. 


838. acord, agreement. 


79. saugh, saw. 


839. neer, nearer. 


81. deed, dead. 


842. wight, person. 


8s. tweye, two. 


844. sort, lot, destiny. 


86. deye, die. 


845- fit, fell. 


88. Avoy, fie. her teles, coward. 


847. resoun, reasonable. 


94. free, generous. 


848. forward, agreement, composicioim, compact. 


9S. secree, secret, discreet. 


850. saugh, saw. 


96. tool, weapon. 


854, a, in. 


97. avauntour, boaster. 


855, riden, rode. 


99. aferd, afraid. 




101. swevenis, dreams. 


THE nun's priest's TALE 


103. replecciouns, gluttony. 


I. widwe, widow, slope, advanced. 


104. fume, vapor arising from gluttony, com- 


2. whylom, formerly, narwe, narrow, small. 


plecciouns; see note to Prologue, 1. 421. 


5. thilke, that. 


106. met, dreamed. 


6. ladde, led. 


f 08. rede colera, ' red cholera caused by too muck 


7. catel, property, rente, income. 


bile and blood (Skeat).' 


8. housbondrye, economy. 


no. lemes, gleams. 


9. fond, found, supported, doghtren, daughters. 


112. contek, strife. 


11. highte, was called. 


113. humour of malencolye, i.e., black choler. 


12. hour, bower, inner room. 


IIS. boles blake, bulls black. 


13. sclendre meet, slender meal. 


120. Catoun, Cato's Distichs. This collection oi 



Ix 



■:iv 



NOTES 



sayings, of uncertain autliorship, was well known 
as early as the 4tli century. 

12 1. do no fors, pay no heed to. 

122. flee, fly. hemes, beams, perches. 

124. Up, upon. • 

130. prow, profit. 

131. tho, the. 

132. kynde, nature. 

133. binethe, beneath. 

135. colerik of compleccioun; see note to 1. 104. 

136. Ware, beware. 

137. humours hole; see note to Prologue, 1. 421. 

138. grate, groat. 

139. fevcre terciane, tertian fever, a fever occur- 
ring every second day. 

143. lauriol, laurel, centaure, the herb centaury. 
fumetere, the herb fumitory. 

144. ellebor, hellebore. 

145. catapuce, the herb spurge, gaytres beryis, 
dogwood berries. 

146. yve, ivy. mery, pleasant. The herbs men- 
tioned are disagreeable to the taste! 

148. fader kyn, father's kinsmen. 

149. Dredeth, 2d pers. plur. imperative. 

150. graunt mercy, great thanks. 

151. daun, dan. Lord, a title given to monks, and 
to many other sorts of persons. 

156. so moot I thee, as I may prosper. An ex- 
pletive phrase. 

157. sentence, sense. 

163. verray preve, true proof. 

164. Oon . . . auctours, refers to Cicero's De 
Divinatione. 

165. whylom, formerly. 

169. streit of herbergage, cramped of lodging, 
Jacking in quarters. 

170. o, one. 

173. departen, separate. 

175. oj . . . falle, as it chanced, 

17^. Fer, far. 

179. aventitre, chance. 

180. That . . , commune. That governs us 
all alike. 

182. mette, dreamed. 

185. ther, where. 

188. abrayde, started suddenly. 

190. took . . . keep, paid no heed to this. 

191. Him thouglite, it seemed to him. nas, was 
not. 

194. slawe, slain. 

196. morwe-tyde, morning-time. 

198. dottge, dung. 

200. Do . . . arresten, have that cart stopped. 

201. sooth to sayn, to say the truth. 
206. in, inn. 

210. agon, gone. 

213. mette, dreamed. 

214. lette, delay. 

216. to donge, to put dung upon. 

222. upright, lying flat on his back. 

223. ministres, officers of justice. 

224. kepe and reulen, guard and rule. 

225. Harrow, a cry of distress, lyth, lies. 

226. What, why. 

'. Z27. out-sterte, started out. 
231. biwrcyest, makest knowM. 



233, wlatsom, loathsome. 

235. it heled be, it to be concealed. 

238. ministres, officers of justice. 

239. han hBnt, have seized, pyned, punished. 

240. engyncd, tortured. 

241. biknewe, confessed. 

246. gabbe, lie, jest. 

247. han, have. 

248. fer, far. 

251. mery, pleasant. 

252. agayn, toward. 

253. as hem teste, as they desired. 

254. lolif, cheerful, hir, their. 

255. casten hem, plan. 

256. 00, one. 

258. mette, dreamed, agayn, toward. 

259. Him thoughte, it seemed to him. 

260. abyde, wait. 

261. wende, go away. 

262. dreynt, drowned. 

263. ivook, woke, mette, dreamed. 

264. And . . . lette. And urged him to aban^ 
don his journey. 

265. abyde, stay. 

268. agaste, terrify. 

269. lette , . . thinges, give up doing my 
business. 

271. swevenes, dreams. Tapes, deceptions. 

273. mase, maze. 

274. shal, shall be. 

276. for-sleuthen, lose through sloth, tyde, time. 

277. God . . . me, God knows it causes me 
sorrow. 

279. y-seyled, sailed. 

280. eyled, ailed. 

281. botme rente, bottom burst. 

286. ensamples, examples, maistow lere, mayest 
thou learn. 

287. recchelees, careless. 

290. seint Kenelm. ' Kenelm succeeded his fa- 
ther Kenulph on the throne of the Mercians in 
821 at the age of seven years, and was murdered 
by order of his aunt, Quenedreda. He was subse- 
quently made a saint (Wright).' 

292. Mercenrike, Mercia. mette, dreamed. 

293. A lyte er, a little while before. 

294. avisioun, vision, say, saw. 

295. norice, nurse, del, part, bit. 

296. kepe, guard, 

297. For traisoun, for fear of treason, nas, was 
not. 

298. litel . . . told, little heed hath he paid. 

300. levere, rather. 

301. legende, life of a saint. 

302. yow, to you. 

303—4. Macrobeus. Macrobius (early sth cen. 
tury) wrote a commentary on Cicero's Somnium 
Scipionis. 

305. Affermeth, confirms. 

307. loketh, look, 2d pers. plur. imperative. 

308. Daniel. See Daniel, ii. 

310-315. Joseph. See Genesis, xxxix— xli. 

311. Wher, whether, or where. 

312. falle, occur. 

316. actcs, history, r ernes, realms, kingdoms, 
318. Cresus^ Croesus. Lyde, Lydia. 



NOTES 



Ixv 



319. Mette, dreamed. 

321. heer, here. Andromacha. The dream of 
Andromache, wife of Hector, is recorded not in 
Homer but in the De Excidio Troiae of Dares 
Phrygius, a popular medieval authority on the 
Trojan war. 

324. lorn, lost. 

325. thilke, the same. 

327. natheles, nevertheless. 

330. ny, nigh. 

331. as for conclusion, in conclusion. 

334. That . , . store. That I have no confi- 
dence in laxatives. 

335. woot, know. 

336. defye, renounce, del, bit. 

337. stitite, cease. , 
339. o, one. 

343. siker, certain. In principio. In the begin- 
ning, — the opening words of the Gospel according 
to John in the Vulgate. 

344. Mulier . . . confusio. Woman is the 
undoing of man. 

345. sentence, meaning. 
350. solas, mirth, pleasure. 
355- loy, that lay. 

356. aferd, afraid. 

359. leoun, lion. 

365. aventure, chance, misfortune. 

367. month . . . bigan. According to medi- 
aeval chronology, the world began at the vernal 
equinox. 

368. highte, was called. 

370. Sin March bigan, used parenthetically here. 
What we are really told is that all of March and 
32 days more were gone, — an indirect way of indi- 
cating that it was May 3. 

371. Bifel, it befell. 

374, Taurus, the Bull, one of the signs of the 
Zodiac, y-ronne, run. 
376. kyndc, nature. 
377- pryme, prime, 9 o'clock, stevene, voice. 

383. solas, pleasure, mirth. 

384. him fil, befell him. cas, occurrence, chance. 

386. woot, knows, ago, gone. 

387. rethor, rhetorician, endyte, write, relate. 

388. chronique, chronicle, saufly, safely. 

389. a sovereyn notabilitee, a particularly worthy 
saying. 

391. undertake, afifirm. 

392. book of Launcelot de Lake. The famous 
romance of Lancelot was full of incredible adven- 
tures. 

394. sentence, meaning, thread of the story. 
^95. col-fox, a black-tipped fox. 

396. waned, dwelt. 

397. heigh imaginacioun, lofty calculation 

398. hegges, hedges. 

399. ther, where. 

401. wortes, herbs. 

402. undern, here, about 11 o'clock a.m. 

407. Scariot, Judas Iscariot. Genilon, Ganelon, 
the traitor who betrayed Roland. See The Song of 
Roland. 

408. dissimilour, deceiver. Sinon, the spy who 
persuaded the Trojans to take the wooden horse 
into Troy. 



409. al outrcly, utterly. 

410. inorwe, morning. 

411. flough, flew. 

414. forwot, foreknows, mot, must. 

416. Witnesse . . . is. Bring to witness any 
one who is a perfect scholar. 

415. disputisoun, dispute. 

420. bulte it to the bren, bolt it to the bran, i.e., 
sift the matter. 

421. Augustyn. St. Augustine (d. 430), a great 
theologian. 

422. Boece, Boethius (d. 525), wrote On the Con- 
solation of Philosophy, in which, among other 
things, he discusses God's foreknowledge and man's 
free will. Bradwardyn, Thomas Bradwardine, an 
Oxford theologian of the early 14th century, wrote 
On the Cause of God, in which he discusses the 
problem of free will and predestination. 

423. forwiting, foreknowledge. 

424. streyjieth me nedely, constrains me neces- 
sarily. 

428. forwot, foreknew. 

429. Or . , , del. Or if his knowledge forces 
not at all. 

430. necessifee condicioncl, conditional necessity, 
i.e., mere foresight, on God's part, of what man is 
going to do voluntarily. 

431. han, have, swich, such. 
433. zvith sorwe, sorrow take herl 
436. colde, baneful. 

440. noot, know not. 

442. in my game, jokingly. 

447. sond, sand. 

448. Lyth, lyeth. 

449. Agayn, against, in. 

451. Phisiologus. A book, in Latin verse, de- 
scribing the nature of certain animals, written by 
one Theobaldus, of uncertain date. 

456. no-thing , . . crozve. Then it did not at 
all please him to crow. 

457. sterte, started. 

458. affrayed, frightened. 
461. erst, first. 

467. vileinye, rudeness. 
471. stevene, voice. 

474. Boece. See note to 1. 422. Boethius wrote 
a treatise De Musica. 

477. ese, pleasure. 

478. certes, certainly, fayn, gladly. 

480. So mote I brouke, so may I have the use of, 

485. peyne him-, take pains. 

486. winke, close. 

492. dau7t Burnel the Asse, a satirical poem, 
Burnellus seu Speculum Stultorum, written by Nigel 
Wireker in the late 12th century. 

493. vers, verses. 

494. yaf, gave. 

495. nyce, foolish. 
497. nis, is not. 

500. seinte, holy. 

501. countrefete, imitate, equal. 

502. fcefe, beat. 

505. flatour, flatterer. 

506. losengeour, liar. 
508. soothfastnesse, truth. 

5021. Ecclesiaste. Ecclesiasticus, in the Apocrypha; 



Ixvi 



NOTES 



lot Ecclesiastes. See Ecclesiasticus, xii, lo, ii, i6. 

513. for the nones, for the occasion. 

514. sterte, started. 

515. gargat, throat, hente, seized. 

516. wode, wood, beer, bore. 

517. sezved, followed. 

51 8. eschewed, avoided, escaped. 

519. fleigh, flew. 

520. roghte nat of, paid no heed to. 
522. O Venus. Friday was Venus' day. 

522. plesaunce, pleasure. 

523. servant, Venus's servant, i.e., a lover. 

527. Gaufred. Geoffrey de Vinsauf wrote, about 
the year 1200, an art of poetry. Nova Poetria, 
which contains an inflated lament against Friday, 
the day when Richard I was shot. 

530. sentence, judgment. 

533- pleyne, complain. 

534. drede, fright. 

537. Pirrus, Pyrrhus. streite, drawn. 

538. hent, seized. 

539. Eneydos; see Acneid, II, 550-553. 
542. shrighte, shrieked. 

543—5. Hasdrubalcs . . . myf, Hasdrubal was 
king of Carthage when the Romans captured it, 
146 B. C. 

545, brcnd, burned. 

547. sterte, started, rushed. 

548. brende hir-selven, burned herself. 
555. sely, simple, poor. 

558. syen, see. goon, go. 
566. fered, frightened. 

568. hem . . , breke, it seemed to them their 
heart would break. 

570. as men, as if men. quelle, kill. 

573. benedicite, an expletive. Pronounce in three 
syllables: ben-si-ta. 

574—6. lakke Straw. It is recorded that in 1381 
Jack Straw led an uprising of peasants in an at- 
tack upon the Flemish weavers in England. 

574. meynee, company, crowd. 

578. bemes, horns, box, boxwood. 

579. boon, bone. 

588. as wis God helpe me, as surely as God may 
help me. 

589. Turneth, turn, 2d per. plur. imperative. 
cherles, churls. 

592. Maugree, in spite of; French malgre. 

596. brak, broke, dcliverly, quickly. 

597. heighe, high, fleigh, flew. 

598. sough, saw. 

601. aferd, afraid. 

602. hente, seized. 

603. wikke entente, wicked intention. 
606. shrewe, curse. 

610. Do, make, winke with, close. 
612. wilfully, willingly, thee, prosper. 

614. undiscreet of governaunce, indiscreet of con- 
duct. 

615. iangleth, babbles. 

616. recchelees, reckless. 

620. Taketh, take, 2d pers. plur. imperative. 

621. seint Patd seith; see 2 Timothy, iii, 16. 

622. doctryne, teaching, y-write, written, y-wis, 
certainly. 



625. my lord, the archbishop of Canterbury. 
William Courtenay, archbishop 1381-1396. 

626. heighe, high. 

CHAUCERS WORDS UNTO ADAM HIS OWNE 
SCRIVEYN 

Written, probably, not long after 1583. 

1. scriiieyn, scrivener, scribe, thee bifalle, hap- 
pens to thee. 

2. Boece, Chaucer's prose translation of the De 
Consolatione Philosophiae of I>oethius (died c. 524). 
Troilus, Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde, written 
about 1383. 

3. lokkes, locks, scalle, scab. 

4. Btit . . , making, unless according to my 
composition. 

5. mot, must. 
7. rape, haste. 

LAK OF STEDFASTNESSE 

Addressed to King Richard II some time between 
the years 1393 and 1399. 

I. Som tyme, once, formerly. 

3. deceivable, full of deceit. 

5. lyk, alike, up so doun, modern English ' up- 
side down.' 

6. niede, meed, bribe. 

9. lust, pleasure. 

10. unable, wanting in ability, 
12. don, do. 

17. mcrciable, merciful. 

18. covetyse, covetousness. blent, blinded. 

19. permutacioun, change. 

22. Lenvoy, the envoy. An envoy is a postscript 
to a composition, to enforce or recommend it. 

26. don, to be done. 

27. castigacioun, punishment. 

THE COMPLEINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS 
EMPTY PURSE 

This pleasant begging poem must have been ad- 
dressed to Henry IV immediately after he became 
king, Sept. 30, 1399, for Chaucer received an an- 
swer in the form of an annual grant of forty 
marks, on Oct. 3 of the same year. 

I. wight, creature, person. 

4. chere, countenance. 

7. mot, must. 

8. vouclieth sauf, grant (imperative), or, before. 

9. soun, sound. 
12. stere, rudder. 

19. The line means, ' I am as bare of money as 
a friar's tonsure is of hair.' 

22, Lenvoy de, see preceding poem, 1. 22, note. 

23. conquerour, Henry IV. Brutes Albioun, 
Albion is the old name of England, or Britain. 
According to legend, Brutus, a descendant of 
^neas, was the first ruler of Britain. 

25. verray, true. 

26. mowcn, can. 

MALORY: LE MORTE D'ARTHUR 

19, a (col. i). 7. ensamples, examples, doctrine, 
teaching. 

11. do .. . enprint, had made and printed. 



NOTES 



Ixvii 



12. Sangreal, Holy Grail. 
1 6. to-fore, before. 

20. paynims, pagans. 

24. Hector, son of Priam, and champion of the 
Trojans. 

26. Alexander the Great (356-323 B. C), the fa- 
mous king of Macedon. 

b (col. 2). I. Julius Casar (100—44 B.C.), the 
famous Roman general, statesman, and writer. 

6. Joshua, the successor of Moses as leader of 
the Israelites. See the Book of Joshua. 

7. behest, promise. 

8. David, the second king of Israel, 1055-1015 
B.C. 

9. Judas Maccahaus (d. 160 B. C), a famous 
Jewish patriot and warrior. 

13. stalled, installed, placed. 

18. Charlemagne, king of the Franks and em- 
peror of the Romans. Crowned emperor, 800 A. D. 

21. Godfrey of Boloine, Godefroy de Bouillon 
(1061-1100), a leader of the first Crusade. 

24. King Edward the Fourth, king of England 
1461-83. 

25. instantly, insistently, earnestly. 

20. a. 21. aretted, reckoned. 

25. Glastonbury, a town in Somerset, England, 
Beat of an abbey. 

26. Polichronicon. Ranulf Higden (died c. 1363), 
a monk of Chester, wrote Polychronicon, a general 
history, in Latin. 

29. translated, removed. 

31. Bochas, Boccacacio (1313-1375). a celebrated 
Italian novelist and poet. De Casu Principiim [On 
the Fall of Princes] recounts the misfortunes of fa- 
mous men. 

33. Galfridus, Geoffrey of Monmouth (e. iioo- 
1152?), whose fabulous Latin History of the Kings 
of Britain purported to be based largely upon a 
' British book.' 

40—1. Patricius . , . Imperator, ' Noble Ar- 
thur, Emperor of Britain, Gaul, Germany and Da- 
cia.' 

b. I. Camelot, a legendary spot in England 
where Arthur was said to have had his court. 

23. conning, knowledge, skill. 

25. eniprised, undertaken. 

21. a. 28. gat, begot. 

36. assotted, infatuated, besotted. 
b. 43. did do make, had made. 

47. viade a parliament, called a council. 

57. prefixed, set, decided upon. 

22. a. 6. longed, belonged. 

12. garnished, furnished, supplied, 

14. wist, heard, learned. 
21. prevail, avail. 

29. sithen, afterward. 

37. book and bell and candle, a reference to for- 
mal ecclesiastical curses. 

49. orgulist, most arrogant, insolent. 

b. I. sonds, messages. 
12. made write, had written. 
18. depraved, calumniated, vilified. 

34. term, length of time. 
46. new-fangle, fickle. 

58. carracks, large, round-built vessels, 

23. a. I. let, prevent. 



12. maugre, in spite of. power, army. 
3r. affiance, trust, confidence. 

44. cankered, inveterate. 

45. danger, subjection, control. 
51. cedle, schedule, note. 

56. French book. As Caxton explains in his 
preface, Malory's sources are chiefly French. 
b. 27. straitly bestead, hard pressed. 
29. let , . . king, had him crowned king. 

24. a. 2. pight a neiv field, prepared for another 
battle. Barham Down, a short distance south of 
Canterbury. 

31. Trinity Sunday, the eighth Sunday after Eas- 
ter. 

45. chaflet, platform. 

b. 9. weened, thought. 
23. an, if. 
27. parties, sides. 
33. as to-morn, to-morrow. 
34-5. proffer you largely, make liberal offers. 

38. worshipfully, honorably, respectfully. 
44. wightly, swiftly, strongly. 

46. avision, vision. 

25. a. 16. every ch, each, every one. 
43. beams, horns. 

51. foining, thrusting. 

b. I. devoir, duty, service. 
3. stinted, ceased. 
7. zvood, mad. 
41. Tide, befall. 
54. foin, thrust. 

58. bur, an iron ring, to prevent the hand from 
slipping. 

26. a. 17, wit, know. 
20. yede, went. 

22. pillers, pillagers. 

31. rede, advice. 
S3, brast, burst. 

b. 19. lightly, quickly. 
46. wap, ripple, wan, grow wan. 

27. o. 39. Avilion, or Avalon, the Land of the 
Blessed in Celtic mythology. 

48. holt, a hill with a grove on it. 

b. 3. graven, dug. 
6. flemed, put to flight. 
10. deeming, judging. 
15. besant, a gold coin, first coined at Byzantium. 

20. still, always. 

39. read, tell. 

28. a. 55. let, prevent. 

b. 10. hard bestead, hard pressed. 

21. unhap, misfortune. 

35. will my worship, wish my honor. 
43. spered, asked, inquired. 

29. a. 4. dole, alms. 

14. Requiem, the mass for the dead, the first 
words of the Introit being Requiem aeternam dona 
eis. 

19. dured, lasted. 

29. sithen, since. 

32. disease, trouble. 

so. still, always, constantly. 
53. boot, use, advantage. 
b. 30. wrack, ruin. 

30. a. 4. perfection, the religious or monastic life. 



Ixviii 



l^JOTES 



2 1-2. gray or zvhite, referring to the habit, or 
costume. 

52. assoil, absolve. 

b. 10— II. ovcrthwart and endlong, across and 
tip and down. 

28. still, continually. 
30. lust, desire. 

43. took no force, paid no heed. 
50. hy then, when. 

53. purvey, provide. 

53. horse bier, bier drawn by horses. 
SI. a. 12. yede, went. 

35. Dirige. An antiphon in the office for the 
dead begins with the word Dirige (' direct ')• 

37. brenning, burning. 

S3, cered cloth of Raines, waxed cloth of Raines 
(in Brittany). 

b. 13. careful, troubled. 

1$. or guilty, arrogance, pride. 

22. dwined, dwindled. 

48. Steven, voice. 

49. longeth, belong. 

50. need you, be necessary to you. 
55—6. will into, wills to go into. 

58. houseled, given the Eucharist. . 

32. a. I. anealed, anointed. 

30. dretching of swevens, tormenting of dreams. 

S3, quire, choir. 

58. "worship, honor, dignity. 

b. 45. rest, a loop or hook attached to the 
armor, to steady the spear in a charge. 

33. a, 18. favor of makers, fabrication of poets. 
22. quick, alive. 

b. 32. Caxton , , , fecit, ' Caxton caused 
me to be made.' 

THE NUT-BROWN MAID 

It ?s to be observed that this poem is a dialogue 
in stanzas, between a lover and his lass. The man 
speaks the first stanza. 
S4. 3. dele, bit. agayne, in return. 

II. mone, moan. 

20. use, practice. 

2y. ton, one. 

29. red, advice, course, can, know. 
33. departs, separate. 

37. distrayne, distress. 

35. 45. leve, stay, remain. 
47. anoon, at once. 

49. rede, advise. 

58. parte, share. 

59. thoo, those. 

64. lyeve, live. 

65. than, then. 
71. any, any. 

7S. rescous, rescue. 

82. greeve, grieve, hurt, wound. 

88. rove, roof. 

89. than, then. 
91. Syth, since. 
93. 00, one. 

36. 94. perde, French par dieu, less strong than 
' by God.' 

97. lust, desire, wish. 

io;3. dere, animals. 

104. vitayle, victuals, food. 



106. hcle, health. 

110. here, hair, ere, ear. 

127. bee, by, concerning. 

131. dey, die. 

135. power, poor, yede, should go. 

136. be, by. 

137. red, advice, can, know. 

146. purvcid me, provided myself. 

37. 153. curteis, courteous, our, hour. 

165. on the splene. The meaning of this ex- 
pression is uncertain. 

172. ^71?, by. 

179. echeon, each one. 

ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR 
BALLADS 

ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBORNE 

Although tradition has peristently maintained 
that Robin Hood was actually a historical character 
of the early 14th century, the early historians 
seem to have had no information concerning him 
except what they found in the ballads themselves. 
In any case, whatever his origin, Robin Hood was 
the hero of ballads of outlawry as early as 1377. 
His generosity, fair-dealing, tenderness, and wit 
subsequently established him as a true English hero, 

38. I. shawes, groves, sheene, beautiful, shradds. 

coppices. 

5. woodweele, woodlark, 

6. a lyne, of linden. 

7. zvight, stout. 
10. froe, from. 

12. wrocken, avenged, towe, two. 

13. Sweavcns, dreams. 

17. Bitshe, dress, prepare, bowne, prepare. 

39. 29. capull-hyde, horse-hide. 
36. ffarley, strange. 

39. ken, know. 

40. And, if. 
43. bale, evil. 
50. slade, valley. 

S2, stockes, wooden blocks, stumps. 

56. Crist his, Christ's, mayne, strength. 

58. ffaine, glad. 

59. veiwe, yew. 

60. ffettelcd, prepared. 

63. Woe worth thee, woe be to thee. 
66. boote, help. 
JT. tane, taken. 
88. lyne, linden. 

95. wilfull, astray. 

96. tyde, time. 

103. tow, two. whether, which of the two, 

40. 107. masteryes, trials of skill, 
no. Steven, hour. 

III. shroggs, wands. 

113. in twinn, apart. 

114. prickes, targets, bull's eyes. 
122. cold, could. 

124. garlande, ' the ring within which the prick 
(or bull's eye) was set.' 

126. pricke-ivande. pole, stick. 

150. ffettled, made ready. 

151. reachcles, careless. 
156. may, maiden. 



NOTES 



Ixix 



i6i. awkwarde, back-handed. 
177. capull-hyde, horse-hide. 

41. 186. lowe, hill. 
192. tyde, time. 

208. Steven, voice. 

209. loset, loosed. 
212. belive, quickly. 
222. boote, help. 
224. rawstye, rusty. 
234. in twinn, in twain. 

ROBIN hood's death AND BURIAL 
3. broom, a kind of shrub, 
12. win, go. 

42. 48. dree, endure, hold out. 
53. boon, favor. 

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN 

During the reign of Richard II (1377— 1399), 
the Scots frequently harried in the northern part of 
England. In 138S an army of Scots, under James, 
Earl of Douglas, besieged Newcastle for three 
days. At this time Douglas met Harry Percy, 
' Hotspur,' in single combat, captured his lance and 
banner, and boasted that he would raise the banner 
on the Scottish castle at Dalkeith. Percy collected 
a force, pursued the Scots, and attacked them at 
night in a hand to hand fight, at Otterburn, near 
the frontier. Although Douglas was killed, the Eng- 
lish were defeated and Percy was taken prisoner, 

1. Latnasse, Lammas, August ist, 

2. zvynnes, dry. 

3. bowynd, prepared. 

4. praye, prey. 

5. yerlle of Fyffe. The Earl of Fif';, son of the 
Scottish king, was ravaging in the northwest of 
England, about Carlisle. He passed over the Sol- 
way Firth. 

7. wolde, would. 

8. raysse, raid, 

g-ii. The places mentioned are in old Northum- 
berland. 

12. Styrande, stirring. 

13. brente, burned. 

16. bowyn, prepared, 

17. berne, man, bent, field. 

43. 31. march-man, warrior of the border, 

32, kepte Barwyke guarded Berwick upon Tweed. 

34. on hyght, aloud. 

35. and thoiv byste, if thou art. " 
39. syne, since, logeyng, lodging. 
46, envye, injury. 

48, tone, one, 

52. logeed, lodged, 

53, roo, roe, rinnes, runs, 
59, the tyll, to thee. 

6S- PyP^, pipe, a measure for wine, — 126 wine- 
gallons. 

73- pyght, fixed. 

74. gettyng, booty. 

75. syne, afterwards. 

76. gresse, grass. 

jy. hoved, tarried, bent, field. 

78, wache, watch, sentinel, 

79. ware on, aware of. 
81. pry eked, rode. 



86. Wynne, joy. 

91. brede, broad. 

92. haylle,. hale, strong. 
96. garre, make, cause. 

98. and . . . lesse, if it were a lie. 
100. peysse, peace. 

loi. yerle of Mentaye, Earl of Menteith. eme,\-' 
uncle. 

102. forwarde, van.V '^ 

103. caiute and kene, wary and bold, t- — 
105. Bowghan, Buchan. 

no. bowcn, ready. 
44. lis. can, gan, did. 

116. hyght, promised, i^- 

121. agayne, back. 

122. upon hye, in a loud voice. 
128. schoote, sent, i 

130. ryall, royal, rowght, rout, company. 

132. rowynde, round. 

138. layne, lie. 

140. agayne, against. 

155. Wende, go. 

156. yee, eye. 

161. liieynde . . . growende, go from this 
ground. 

162. onfowghten, not fought, without fight. 

165. rynde, flayed. 

166. mykkel maye, powerful maid. 
168. Wyth, by. 

171. warysoti, reward. 

174. 'And cross himself in the name of the Trin= 
ity.' 

181. perte, part, side. 
183. lucettes, pikes (fish). 

199. swapped, smote, whyll that the, until they. 

200. collayne, Cologne steel. 

43. 201. bassonnettes, steel caps, helmets. 
202. roke, reek, steam. 
210. rede, guessed. 
215. thee, they, beette, beat. 
218. stounde, hour, time. 
225. eke a, every. 

229. freke, man. 

230. stowre, battle. 

231. drye, endure. 
238. Grysely, fearfully. 
262- Seyng, seeing. 

268. makes, mates, husband, fette, fetched. 
276. borowed, ransomed. 

CAPTAIN CAR OR EDOM GORDON 

Adam Gordon was deputy, in 1571, for Queen 
Mary in the north of Scotland, where he encoun- 
tered the hostility of the Forbeses, who supported 
the king's party. On one occasion he sent his sol- 
diers to take the castle of Towie in the queen's 
name. After the lady of the house had refused, the 
eager soldiers were commanded by their leader, 
Captain Ker, to set fire to the castle. Tradition 
has it that the lady and twenty-seven others were 
burned to death. 

I. Martynmas, Nov. nth. 

4. holde, castle. 
46. s. Syck, sike, sick, to-towe, too-too. 

9. zvether, whither. 

17. lend, leaned. 



XX 



NOTES 



34. bande, bond, agreement. 

36. ere, possess. 

38. whitt and redda, white and red, 

45. pestilett, pistol. 
SO. pellettes, bullets. 

54. lowne, servant, worthless person. 

60. eare, heir. 

64. waran, protection, surety. 

70. knet, knotted. 

80. smoldereth, smothers. 

82. ffee, property. 

86. the, thee. 

47. 1 01. busk, prepare, howne, make ready. 
104. or, before. 

108. dele, deal, bit. 
121. ought, had, 

THE WIFE OF USHEr's WELL 

7. carline wife, old woman, or perhaps, wealthy 
woman, low-born woman. 

8. gane, gone. 

14. fashes, troubles. 

17. Martinmass, Nov. nth. 

20. birk, birch. 

21. syke, ditch, trench. 

22. sheugh, ditch, furrow. 
27. a', all. 

41. daw, dawn. 

42. channerin, fretting. 

43. Ght, if. 

44. sair, sore, matin, must. 

46. byre, cow-house. 

KEMP OWYNE 

Kemp Owyne is Owain, one of King Arthur's 
knights. The adventure here ascribed to him is that 
of disenchantment through kisses. 

6. dee, do. 

48. 12. borrow, set free, ransom, 
34, wi, with. 

THE D^MON LOVER 

20. kend, knew. 

30. baith, both. 

31. ain, own. 

49. 3S. taffetie, fine silk. 

41. drumlie, gloomy, frightened, ee, eye. 
53. win, arrive. 
58. strack, struck. 

LORD RANDALL 

4. wald, would. 

II. hroo, water in which something has been 
boiled. 

SIR PATRICK SPENS 
3. guid, good. 

9. braid, broad. 
14. lauch, laugh. 

^0. 29. laith, loth. 

31. owre a', ere all. 

32, aboone, above, 

38. kerns, combs. 

39. ain, own. 
41, owre, over. 



THOMAS RYMER 



There is considerable evidence that Thomas the 
Rimer was one Thomas of Erceldoune, who lived 
in southern Scotland in the 13th century. Tradi- 
tion has it that he was a prophet, as well as a poet, 
and that he was frequently visited by fairies. 

4. fertile brae, ferny hill. 

7. ilka tett, every lock, 

10. till, to, > 

17. maun, must, 

20, wae, woe. 

44. fairlies, wonders, 

49, braid, . broad, 

50, lillie leven, pleasant lawn, 
56. gae, go. 

59, gin ae, if one, 
61. even, smooth, 

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN 
51. I. Martinmass, Nov. nth. 

8. Gin, if, 

9. hooly, slowly. 
17. dinna, do not. 
19. gae, go, 

28, reft, deprived, 

31. jow, stroke, gcid, gave. 



THE TWA SISTERS 
bowr, bower, 
brotch, brooch, 
sair, sore, 
brast, burst. 
stane, stone. 
jaw, wave, current. 
Ise, I shall, mack, make, a' my Ian, all my 



IS- 

22. 

25- 

27. 
land. 

29. 

32. 

33- 

35. 
52. 4 

47. 

49. 

58. 



goud, gold. 
fa, fall, han, hand, 

' It separated me and my world's mate,' 
Gars, makes, gae, go. 
5. sma, small. 
braw, fine, handsome, 
sae gryte, so great. 
nextin, next, syne, afterwards. 



THE CRUEL BROTHER 

I, ha, ball. 
S. baith, both. 

18. maun, must, frae a', from all. 
31, doss, court-yard. 
46. pall, cloak, 
48, gozvden, golden. 
53, 57. sair, sore. 
58, rive, tear, 

EDWARD 
I, dois, does, brand, sword, knife. 
4, gang, go, 

7, guid, good. 

8. mair, more. 

13. reid-roan steid, red-roan steed, 

16, frie, good. 

20. dule ye drie, sorrow ye suffer. 

25. drie, suffer. 

35. ha, hall. 



NOTES 



Ixxi 



ZT. tul, till, /a, fall. 

45. thrae, through. 

S3, sail, shall, beir, bear. 

WYATT: A RENOUNCING OF LOVE 
65. 3. Senec, Lucius Annieus Seneca (4 B. C— 
6s A. D.), a famous Roman Stoic philosopher and 
writer of tragedies. Plato (429 or 427—347 B. C), 
a famous Greek philosopher. 
8. lever, dearer. 

AN EARNEST SUIT 
4. grame, sorrow. 

THE LOVER COMPLAINETH 

7. grave, make an impression upon, engrave. 

56. 24. playn, to complain. 

OF THE MEifN AND SURE ESTATE 
John Poins (died iss8), an intimate friend of 
Wyatt, lived chiefly at the English court. 
6. souse, drench. 

10. dight, put in order. 

14. store, supply, abundance, stroyed, destroyed. 

26. cater, caterer. 

28. charge, care, burden. 

31, jape, jest. 

S3, steaming, gleaming. 

61. tho, then. 

57. 88. hay, snare, conies, rabbits. 
105. dome, judgment. 

HENRY HOWARD: DESCRIPTION OF 
SPRING 

58. I. soote, sweet. 
2. eke, also. 

4. turtle, turtle-dove, make, mate. 

5. spray, branch, stem, springs, sprouts. 

8. flete, float. 

11. mings, mixes. 

DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE 
GERALDINE 

1. Tuscan, Tuscany. 

2. her, their. 

3. Western isle. See line 5. 

4. Camber's cliffs, the cliffs of Wales. 

59. 9. Hunsdon, in Hertfordshire, some 30 miles 
north of London. 

11. Hampton, Hampton Court, a royal palace near 
London. 

12. Windsor, Windsor Castle. 

13. kind, nature. 

COMPLAINT OF THE LOVER DISDAINED 
I. Cyprus. The island of Cyprus was the espe- 
cial home of Venus. 

COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
LOVER 

4. eke, also. 

5. wonted, was accustomed. 

14. avail, profit, advantage. 

60. 33. drencheth, drowns. 
38. doubtful, full of fear. 



A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE 

4. sayn, say. 

7. troth, fidelity, 

8. Penelope, the proverbially faithful wife of 
Odysseus. 

II. mo, more. 

21. kind, nature. 

25. sith, since. ' 

DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE OF 
A LOVER 
19. list, please, 
24. use, practice. 
31. plain, complain. 

61. 44. agazed, wrapt, amazed. 
51. teen, sorrow. 

THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE 
I. Martial (43-104 A. D.), a Latin poet. Wrote 
chiefly epigrams. 

5. egall, equal. 

9. mean, moderate. 

13. debate, dispute, quarrel. 

OF THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT 

7. stithe, anvil. 

14. reft, bereft. 

17. served in foreign realms. See p. 54 above. 
21. none affect, no affection. 

VIRGIL'S ^NEID 
I. whisted, became silent. 

6. Phrygian, of Phrygia, that country or divi- 
sion of Asia Minor in which Troy was situated. 
wailful, lamentable. 

10. Myrmidon. The Myrmidons were led to the 
Trojan War by Achilles. Dolopes. The Dolopes 
came ffom Thessaly to fight on the Greek side be- 
fore Troy. 

62. 17. plaint eschews, avoids complaint. 
35. fct, fetched, reached. 

40. Pyrrhus, a famous Greek hero of the Trojan 
War. pight, campecf. 

42. scathful, harmful. 

43. Behight, promised. 



SACKVILLE: THE INDUCTION 
63. 2. treen, trees. 

3. Saturnus, Saturn, one of the planets, of un- 
propitious influence. 

7. tapets, tapestries, figuratively used for foliage. 
bloom, flower. 

10. soote, sweet. 

11. Boreas, the north wind. 
21. whereas, where. 

24. Venus, goddess of love. Hermes, Mercury, 
messenger of Jupiter. 

25. Mars, god of war. will, desire, urge. 

27. Virgo, the Virgin, one of the constellations, 
and a sign of the zodiac. 

28. Thetis, goddess of the sea. 

2y. Scorpio, Sagittarius, Scorpion and Archer, 
signs of the zodiac. 
30. prest, ready. 
32. Bear, a constellation. 



NOTES 



26. Phaeton, son of the sun-god. 


262. zvot, knows. 


38. prest, ready. 


67. 268. ruth, pity. 


40. stent, end. 


271. breres, briars. 


42. Titan, the sun personified. 


284. keep, heed. 


43. Cynthea, the moon. 


291. Reaver, robber, one who deprives. 


64. 48. chare, car, chariot. 


292. tide, happen. 


51. lusty, pleasant. 


294. Croesus, the fabulously wealthy king of 


53. fade, faded. 


Lydia, who came to the throne in 560 B. C. Irus, 


57. learns, flames, rays. 


in Homeric legend, a beggar of gigantic stature. 


60. Phcebus, the sun-god. 


297. cheer, countenance, still, ever, always. 


68. peers, noblemen of especial dignity. 


299. the sisters, the fates: Clotho, Lachesis, and 


69. descrive, describe. 


Atropos. 


74. wight, creature, person, forewaste, com- 


306. forewaste, wasted away. 


pletely wasted. 


308. beseeck, beseech. 


75. brast, burst. 


309. But and, although. 


76. fold, folded. 


313. eld, old age. 


yj. ruth, pity. 


32S. fain, eagerly. 


80. welked, withered, pale, besprent, sprinkled. 


333. pilled, bare, zvith eld^forlore, wasted with 


90. doom, judgment. 


age. 


93. distrained, pained, torn. 


68. 336. For brief, in brief. 


96. apart, set aside. 


340. brook, use, endure, enjoy. 


97. dewle, lamentation, sorrow. 


342. recure, recovery. 


100. stint, cease, spill, destroy, kill. 


346. grisly, terrible. 


102. dure, last, endure, attaint, tainted, afflicted. 


361. maw, stomach. 


103. forefaint, very faint. 


371. Enthrilling, forcing in. reave, deprive. 


106. distrained, distressed. 


374. daunts, subdues (by fear). 


109. Furies, the Eumenides: Alecto, Megsra, 


376. peers, noblemen. 


and Tisiphone. 


381. eftsoons, forthwith, immediately. 


111. Lethe, the river of oblivion, in Hades. 


382. affi-ayed, frightened. 


112. reave, take away. 


383. dight, provided, parde, French par Dieu. 


65. 119. dure, last, endure. 


389. imbrued, covered. 


120. brayed, started. 


393. whilom, formerly, once. 


122. shright, shrieked. 


398. forehewed, hewed to pieces. 


123. to-dashed, dashed to pieces. 


399. targe, shield. 


125. eft, again. 


401. Debate, dispute, contest, war. 


131. avale, abate. 


402. fillet, a band for tying about the hair. 


134. sith, since. 


405. Darius, king of Persia 521—486 B. C. power. 


141. stike, stich, verse, stanza. 


army. 


143. Mollis, god of the winds. 


407. Macedo, Alexander the great (356-323 


145. bedrent, drenched. 


B. C), king of Macedonia. 


161. won, dwelling. 


69. 409. daunted, subdued. 


166. silly, simple, innocent. 


410-418. Hannibal (247—183 B. C.), a famous 


175. shright, shrieked. 


Carthaginian general, among whose victories against 


176. grisly, dreadful. 


the Romans are those of the Trebia, of Lake Trasi- 


179. whilom, formerly, once, bare swing, bore 


mene, and of Cannae. At Canna; the Roman con- 


Sfway. 


sul Paulus was killed. Hannibal was finally de- 


191. unmeet, unseemly, unusual. 


feated by Scipio Africanus Major, at Zama, in 202 


66. 202. Astoined, astounded. 


B.C. 


208. yeding, going. 


419. Ccesar . , . Pompey. The civil war be- 


210. cleped, called. Avern, a small lake near 


tween Julius Cffisar and Pompey was ended by the 


modern Naples, anciently believed to be the en- 


total defeat of Pompey at Pharsalia in 48 B. C. 


trance to the infernal regions. 


423. Sulla and Marius. The civil war between 


212. swelth, overflow. 


the Romans Marius and Sulla began in 88 B. C. 


£19. besprent, sprinkled. 


425. Cyrus, the Great (d. 529 B. C), founded tke 


221. stent, cease. 


Persian empire. 


223. thoughtful, sorrowful. 


428. Xerxes (c. 519-464 B. C), king of Persia, 


233. proffered, put forth. 


432. Thebes, a city in Boeotia, Greece, destroyed 


236. staring of his hair, hair standing on end. 


by Alexander the Great. 


237. 'Stained, astounded. 


433. Tyrus, Tyre, despoiled by Alexander the 


243. far forth, extremely, excessively. 


Great. 


250. fet, fetched. 


440. Priam, king of Troy, 


253. somedeal, somewhat. 


441. Hn, restrain myself. 


257. clouts, tatters, rags. 


442. sith, since. 


258. scrip, wallet. 


445. quail, fall. 


26b. for most, chiefly. 


449. Hector, son of Priam. 



NOTES 



Ixxii 



111 



451. boot, reward, outcome. 

452. hugy horse j the wooden horse by means of 
which the Greeks gained entrance into Troy. 

463. Cassandra, a prophetess, daughter of Priam. 
By command of Apollo, her prophecies, though true, 
were always discredited. 

464. Pallas' house, temple of Pallas, spercled, 
disheveled. 

465. rout, mob. empaled, pierced. 

469. Pyrrhus, the Greek who slew Priam. 
468. baign, bath. 

475. Ilium, the citadel of Troy, gledes, flames. 

476. NeptUHus, god of the sea. 
480. Acheron, a river in Hades. 

70. 482. grisly, terrible. Charon, the ferryman 
who transported the souls of the dead over the 
rivers of the underworld. 

486. rout, crowd. 
491. fraughted, freighted, laden. 
494. hoise, hoist. 

499. Cerberus, the three-headed watch-dog at the 
entrance to the infernal regions. 

501. Foredinning, filling with a din. 

504. peased, held his peace, became silent. 

512, puled, whined. 

517. yfear, together. 

527. whilom, formerly, once. 

530. erewhile, a while ago. 

532. kesar, emperor, peer, nobleman. 

ROGER ASCHAM: THE SCHOOLMASTER 

71. a. 6. Circe's Court, In Greek mythology 
Circe was an enchantress who, attended by four 
nymphs, feasted all persons who approached her 
dwelling. Anyone, however, who tasted the con- 
tents of her magic cup was turned into a beast. 

32. Inglese . . . incarnato, * An Englishman 
Italianate is a devil incarnate.' 
b. 19. policy, cunning. 

24. discoursing, reasoning, argumentative. 
32. fond, foolish. 

35. honest, virtuous. 

72. a. 2. charge, duty, office. 

5. Paul's Cross, a cross situated near the north- 
east angle of old St. Paul's, in the churchyard. 
From it great public assemblies were addressed and 
sermons preached. The ' Paul's Cross Sermons ' are 
still preached on Sunday morning. 

13. Louvain, a city in the province of Brabant, 
Belgium. Religious books were often printed here. 

14. wink, close the eyes. 

25. St. Paul saith, Galatians, v, igS, 

57. canons, ecclesiastics retained for the perform- 
ance of divine service in a cathedral or collegiate 
church. Morte Arthur, a compilation of prose ro- 
mances on the life and death of King Arthur and 
the knights of the Round Table, translated largely 
from French romances by Sir Thomas Malory and 
printed by Caxton in 1485. See p. 19. 

b. 6. shifts, tricks. Sir Launcelot, ' Launcelot 
of the Lake,' one of the most famous of the 
knights of the Round Table, who guiltily loved 
Arthur's queen, Guinevere. 

6—7. Wife of King Arthur, Guinevere. 

7. Sir Tristram, of Lyonesse, another famous 



Knight of the Round Table. His love for Isolde, 
wife of King Mark of Cornwall, forms the subject 
of many romances. 

.9. Sir Lamerock, a knight of the Round Table. 
wife of King Lot. King Lot in Malory's Morte 
d'Arthur was a King of Orkney who married 
Margawse, sister of Arthur. 
23. fond, foolish. 

73, a. 6. lewd, unlearned, vulgar. 

16. Plato (429 or 427—547 B. C), a famous Greek 
philosopher, disciple of Socrates and teacher of 
Aristotle. 

18. abominabiles » . . suis, 'made destestable 
in their studies.' 

20. Dixit insipiens in corde suo no est Deus, 
' The fool hath said in his heart there is no God,' 
Psalm, xiv, i. 

29. Triumphs of Petrarch, an allegorical work by 
the celebrated Italian poet Petrarch (1304— 1374). 

31. Tully's Offices. Marcus Tullius Cicero (106— 
43 B. C.) was a famous Roman orator, statesman, 
and philosopher. The work here referred to is his 
De Officiis (On Duties). 

32. Boccaccio (1313—1375), eminent Italian 
writer, author of The Decameron, a collection of 
100 tales. 

45. Whether, which. 

50. general councils, composed of bishops and 
theologians from different nations, convened to 
consider questions of church doctrine, discipline, 
and the like. 

53. Luther, Martin Luther (1483-1546), leader 
of the Protestant Reformation in Germany. 

b. 2. epicures, those who held the opinions of 
the Greek philosopher Epicurus (342—270 B. C), 
who taught that pleasure is the only possible end 
of rational action and that ultimate pleasure is 
freedom. 

22. list, like, choose. 

23. Mysteries of Moses, the rites of the Jewish 
religion instituted by Moses, See the Book of 
Leviticus. Law and ceremonies. See Deuteron- 
omy. 

29. Horace, Roman poet (65—8 B. C). Quotation 
from Satires, i, 5, 100. 

51. Pygius, Pighius (1490— 1542), a theologian 
whose writings were opposed by Calvin. Machi- 
avelli (1469— 1527), celebrated Italian statesman 
and author. He was imprisoned and put to the 
torture on suspicion of conspiring against Giovanni 
de Medici, but was released and after retiring to 
his country estate wrote The Prince. His name is 
sj'nonymous with all that is cunning and un- 
scrupulous in diplomacy. 

74. a. 3—6. where Christ's doctrine . , , special 
regard, Germany. 

16. lust, desire. 

17. pantocle, a slipper. 

34. bent enemy, cf. ' bent on mischief.' 

50. Bridewell, a celebrated London prison or 
house of detention. The name has become a ge- 
neric term for a house of correction or lock-up. 

55. present Pope, Pius V (1566—1572). 

57. meed, a reward, gift. 
b. 57. lust, desire. 



Ixxiv 



NOTES 



75. a. 2. Guelph, the papal and popular party in 
Italy during the struggle between the papacy and the 
Empire in the Middle Ages. Ghibelin, the imperial 
and aristocratic party in the same struggle. 

10. let, hindrance; archaic except in the com- 
mon phrase ' without let or hindrance.' 

JOHN LYLY: EUPHUES AND HIS ENGLAND 

76. a. 4. This queen. Mary was queen from 1553 
to 1558. 

5. age of twenty-two years. At her accession to 
the throne, in 1558, Elizabeth (born 1533) was actu- 
ally twenty-five years of age. 

8. a prisoner. Queen Mary had imprisoned Eliz- 
abeth in the Tower of London. Prince, used prop- 
erly, by extension of meaning, to designate a royal 
personage of either sex. 

28. Zeno, a philosopher of Elea (born c. 488 
B. C), was mentioned in classical times as an ex- 
ample of patience. 

29. Eretricus, apparently Lyly's own invention. 

30. Lycurgus, either the Spartan legislator (9th 
century B. C), or the Athenian orator (c. 396-c. 
323 B.C.). 

b. 9. spill, destroy. 

10. proffer, offer. 

14. Aristides (d. 468 B.C.?), an Athenian gen- 
eral and politician, was exiled through the influ- 
ence of his great rival, Themistocles. 

16. Alexander. Lyly's reference is uncertain. 

21. hills, requests. 

23. resembling Julius Casar. There is no author- 
ity for this comparison. 

33. government, reign. 

35. racking, stretching. 

77. a. 2. Antoninus (emperor of Rome 138— 161 
A. D.), surnamed 'Pius.' 

12—13. 6'M'* that was shot off. This was, for 
Lyly, a recent occurrence, of the summer of 1579. 

24. close, secret. 

29. in the whale's belly. An allusion to the story 
of Jonah. See Jonah i— ii. 

31. in the hot oven. An allusion to the story of 
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. See Daniel iii. 

40. list, please. 

43. Theodosius, an allusion, perhaps, to the re- 
pentance of Theodosius I (c. 346-395), Emperor 
of the East, after his massacre of the rebels of 
Thessalonica in 390. 

45—8. Augustus . . . write. This anecdote is 
recounted not of Augustus, but of Nero, emperor 
of Rome 54—68. 

47, we, royal use of plural for singular. 

b. 18. Praxitlles, born at Athens near the end 
of the 5th century B. C. A famous sculptor. His 
statues of Venus and Cupid are known, but not his 
paintings. 

19. her son, Cupid. 

28. Zeuxis, a famous Greek painter who flour- 
ished at the end of the 5th century B. C. 

36. table, probably a slab, or tablet. 

39. Apelles, a famous Greek painter who flour- 
ished in the early part of the 4th century B. C, 
54, narrowly, closely, 

78. a. 6. mold, pattern, model. 



16. forty years, actually forty-seven years! 

26. tickle, uncertain. 

27. twist, thread. 

36. the bird Ibis. There is a slender tradition 
that this bird was distinguished for sweetness of 
odor. 

52—3. Nicaulia the queen of Saba. A Nicaulis 
is mentioned in Josephus' Antiquities of the Jews, 
Bk. viii, Ch. 6. 

54. Nicostrata, a legendary or mythological 
Greek prophetess. 

58. Amalasunta, ruled at Ravenna as queen of 
the Ostrogoths 522-530 A. D. Tradition ascribes 
to her numerous literary accomplishments. 
58. b. I. Aspasia . . . Pericles. Aspasia was 
an accomplished woman to whom the famous Athe- 
nian statesman, Pericles (c. 495—429 B.C.), was 
notoriously attached. 

2. Themistoclea . . . Pythagoras. Pythagoras 
(c. 582— c. 500 B. C), a famous Greek philosopher 
and mathematician, is said to have received instruc- 
tion from one Aristocleia, a priestess. 

7. escapes, mistakes. 

23. twice . . . universities. Queen Elizabeth 
visited Cambridge for a few days in 1 564, and Ox- 
ford for a few days in 1566. In both places she 
attended disputations, and made speeches in Greek 
and Latin. 

39. Sybarites, inhabitants of Sybaris in southern 
Italy, who were noted for luxurious living. 

49. withal, with. 
58. whenas, since. 

79. a. 4. gallery of Olympia. Reference to a fa- 
mous echoing gallery at Olympia, in Greece. 

34. curses of the Pope. Pope Pius V directed a 
bull of excommunication and deposition against 
Elizabeth in 1570. 

b. 17. Alexander, 'the Great' (356-323 B.C.), 
king of Macedon. Galba (3 B. C— 69 A. D.), a 
Roman emperor. 

20. queen of Navarre, Margaret d' Angouleme 
(1492— 1549), queen of Henry II of Navarre. 
Elizabeth, while princess, translated a small book 
of religious meditations from the French of Mar- 
garet. 

25-6. bound . . . palm tree, i.e., was vic- 
torious in Egypt. 

42. silly, innocent, 

46. whist, silent. 

47. bird Attagen. The habits of this bird here 
recounted are vouched for by Pliny (23—79 A. D.), 
the celebrated Roman naturalist. 

50. wade, go. 

80. a, 21. weams, blemishes, scars. 

SONG (FROM GALLATHEA) 
I. O yes, O yes I A development from French 
oiez, ' hear ye,' a summons to court. 

SIDNEY: AN APOLOGY FOR POETRY 

81. a. 3. so long a career. Up to this point, .Sid- 
ney has considered at length the nature and valu» 
of poetry, its superiority to history, and the kind? 
of poetry. 

15. Musa . . . laeso, Virgil, Aen. i. 8. 



NOTES 



Ixxv 



22. David. See, for example, 2 Samuel xxii. 

23. Adrian, the emperor Hadrian (117—138 
A. D.), who wrote both prose and verse. Sophocles, 
the Greek tragic poet (495 ?-4o6 B.C.). German- 
icus (is B. C.-19 A. D.), nephew of the Emperor 
Tiberius, took his name from Germany (Germania), 
where he distinguished himself in military service. 
He wrote prose and poetry. 

26. Robert, King of Sicily, king of Naples, 1309- 
1343. He wrote prose and poetry. 

27. King Francis, Francis I (1515—1547), a gen- 
erous patron of letters. 

b. I. King James of Scotland, James I of Scot- 
land (140S— 1436). His King's Quair is a pleasant 
poem in the Chaucerian style. 

2. Bembus, Pietro Bembo (i 470-1 547), a cardinal 
and papal secretary, wrote poetry and prose in both 
Latin and Italian. Bibiena, Bernardo da Bibbiena 
(1470-1520), one of the tutors of Pope Leo X. 

3. Besa, Theodore Beza (1519-1605), a French 
Calvinistic controversialist, composed numerous 
Latin poems. 

4. Melanchthon, Philip Melanchthon (1497-1560), 
a German supporter of Luther, and a Latin poet. 

5. Fracastorius, Hieronymus Fracastorius (1483— 
1553). an Italian poet, philosopher, and scientist. 
Scaliger, Julius Caesar Scaliger (1484-15 58) was an 
Italian literary critic. Sidney appears to have 
studied diligently his treatise on poetry. 

6. Pontanus, Johannes Jovius Pontanus (1420— 
1503), an Italian, wrote both prose and distinguished 
poetry in Latin. Muretus, Marc Antoine Muret 
(1526-1585), a French orator, jurist, and poet. 

'7. George Buchanan (i 506-1 582), a distinguished 
Scotch Latinist. 

9. Hospital of France, Michael de I'Hospital 
(1505— 1573), a distinguished French lawyer and 
statesman, wrote numerous Latin poems. 

22. when . . . loudest. Chaucer, for exam- 
ple, served in the English army under Edward III 
(13^7-1377). 

24. over-faint quietness. Under Queen Elizabeth 
England had been at peace for some 25 years. 

25. strew the house, a figure derived from the 
practice of strewing rushes on the floor. 

27. mountebanks at Venice, peddlers of quack 
medicines, notorious at Venice. 

82. a. 3. troubled . . . Mars, Vulcan, jealous 
over his wife, forged a net for her. 

6. a piece of a reason, a considerable reason. 

12. Epaminondas (418—362 B. C), a Theban gen- 
eral and statesman, who began his career modestly 
but effectively as a sort of commissioner of sew- 
ers. 

22. Helicon, a mountain in Boeotia haunted by 
the Muses. 

27. Quels . . . Titan, Juvenal, Sat. xiv. 36. 

40. Pallas, Minerva, goddess of wisdom and war. 
b. g.- Dadalus, invented wings for himself and 
for his son Icarus. 

15. withal, with. 

27. Ovid's verse. Cf. Ovid, Tristia, iv. 10. 26. 

36. Troilus and Criseyde. See p. 4. 

43. Mirror for Magistrates, See p. 63. 

44. Earl of Surrey's lyrics. See p. 58. 



47. Shepherd's Calendar. See p. 104. 

48. eclogues, pastoral poems. 

52. Theocritus, a Greek idyllic poet of the 3d cen- 
tury B. C. 

53. Sannazaro (1458—1530), a famous Italian 
poet. 

83. a, 11. Gorbodiic, or Ferrex and Porrex, a trag- 
edy by Thomas Sackville (see p. 63) and Thomas 
Norton, was first acted in 1561. 

15. Seneca's style, Lucius AnnKus Seneca (c. 4 
B. C— 65 A. D.), a Roman philosopher and writer 
of tragedies. 

22. faulty both in place and time, i.e., a violation 
of the ' unity of place,' which required that all the 
action of a play occur in one place, and of the 
' unity of time,' which required that the time rep- 
resented by the action should not exceed one revo- 
lution of the sun. 

27. Aristotle's precept. Aristotle (384—322 B. C.) 
was the most influential of Greek philosophers. 
The principles of dramatic writing are discussed in 
his Poetics. 

53. traverses, difficulties. 
b. 5. Eunuch in Terence. Terence (c. 185-0. 
159 B. C), a Roman comic poet. The Eunuchus 
is not the only play of Terence that violates the 
' unity of time.' 

10. Plautus . . . amiss. Plautus (died 184 
B. C), a Roman writer of comedies. We cannot 
be certain as to the particular play here referred to. 

26. Calicut, the capital of Malabar, India. 

27. Pacolct's horse, the magic horse of Pacolet, 
a dwarf in the French romance, Valentine et Orson, 
By turning a pin in the horse's head, the rider could 
convey himself instantly to any part of the world. 

29. Nuntius. In Greek and Roman tragedy the 
catastrophe was not usually presented on the stage, 
but was reported by a messenger. 

33. Horace, a Roman poet (65—8 B. C), wrote 
a work called. The Art of Poetry. 

34. Ab ovo means, ' from the remotest origin.' 
38—53. Polydorus , . . Euripides. Polydorus 

was the youngest son of Priam, king of Troy. The 
story is told in the Hecuba of Euripides, a Greek 
tragic poet (480-406 B. C), 

45. Hecuba, second wife of Priam, and mother of 
Polydorus. 

46. sleight, trick. 

84. a. 10. Apuleius (born c. 125 A. D.), a Roman 
philosopher and rhetorician, best known for his 
romance The Golden Ass, The exact significance 
of Sidney's reference is not clear. 

15. Amphitruo, This is pure comedy, except for 
the introduction of gods and heroes. 

17. daintily, with discrimination 

25. tract, course. 

38. conveniency, suitability. 

55. go . . . bias, take an unexpected turn. 
The figure is taken from the game of bowls. Bias 
means ' slope,' ■ 

b. 8—9. Spinning , . . commandment, Her- 
cules, in his infatuation for Omphale, queen of 
Lydia, allowed himself to be dressed as a female 
slave, and spun wool. 

20. forbidden plainly by Aristotle, in his Poetics. 



Ixxvi 



NOTES 



31. Nil . . , facit, Juvenal, Sat. iii. 152-3. 
The tianslation is that of Samuel Johnson. 

37, Thraso, a bragging, swaggering captain. See 
the Eunuchus of Terence, referred to above. 

38—39. a wry-transformed traveler, a traveler who 
unwisely affects foreign manners. 

43. Buchanan. See 81. b. 7, note. 

54-5. lyrical , . . sonnets, a reference to 
such miscellanies as Tottel's Miscellany. See p. 54. 

85. a. 33. coursing of a letter, such devices as the 
acrostic, in which the first letters of the several 
lines spell a word. 

3S-6. with figures and floiuers, the printing of the 
lines in such a way as to form geometrical figures, 
flowers, and the like. 

45. Tully, Marcus Tullius Cicero (106—43 B. C), 
the Roman orator, philosopher, and statesman. 
Demosthenes (384?— 322 B.C.), the greatest of the 
Greek orators. 

47. Nisolian paper-books, note-books containing 
collections of phrases, such as the Ciceronian 
Thesaurus of Marius Nizolius, an Italian professor 
(born 1498). 

58. Catiline, the Roman conspirator against whom 
Cicero directed certain of his most famous orations. 
b. 3. Vivit ... venit, from Cicero's first 
oration against Catiline. 

9. choler, anger. 

14. ' similiter cadences,' ' endings of similar 
sound or arrangement,' such as rime in poetry, or 
repetition. 

17. daintiness, discrimination. 

19. sophist cr, a university term for students qual- 
ified for disputations, 

29. stories . . . fishes. Notice the use of 
curious illustrations from natural history in Lyly's 
Euphues on p. 79, col. 2. 

43. Antonius and Crassus. Marcus Antonius 
(145—87 B. C), grandfather of the famous Antony 
of the Triumvirate, was a distinguished Roman or- 
ator, and was so honored by Cicero. Publius Li- 
cinius Crassus (175—131 B. C.) was a celebrated 
orator and lawyer. 

45. As Cicero testifieth, in his dialogue On Ora- 
tory. 

47. not to set by it, not to value it. 

53. knacks, tricks, ornaments, 

86. a. 13. pounded, put in a ' pound,' or enclosure. 
23. awry, out of a straight line, wrong. 

38. Tower of Babylon. See Genesis, Chap, xi, 
45, compositions ... together, compound words, 
56, Whether, which, 

b. 25. Now for rime. Rime Is here used in the 
sense of rhythm. 

38. sdrucciola, means ' slippery,* ' sliding.' This 
is the regular Italian term for trisyllabic rime, 

87. a. 2. toy, trifle. 

10, Bembus. See 81. b, 2, note. 
12. Scaliger. See 81. b. s, note. 

15—16. Clauserus . . . Cornutus. Lucius An- 
naeus Cornutus (fl, ist century A, D.) wrote a 
treatise in Greek On the Nature of the Gods, which 
was translated into Latin by one Clauserus and 
published about the middle of the i6th century. 
Sidney is drawing from the preface of this work. 



17. Hesiod, a Greek poet assigned to the 8th cen- 
tury B. C. 

25. Landin, Cristofero Landino (1424— 1504), an 
Italian poet and critic, is here referred to for the 
critical precepts of his Disputations. 

36. Libertino patre nattis, Horace, Satires, i. 6. 45. 

37—8. Herculea proles, descendant of Hercules, 
i.e., royal, noble. 

40. Si . . . possunt, Virgil, Aeneid, ix, 446. 

44, with Dante's Beatrice, or Virgil's Anchises, 
that is, in heaven, or in the Elysian fields. 

46. dull-making, deafening. Nilus, the River 
Nile. 

47, planet-like music, the music of the spheres 
produced by the rotation of the planets, 

52. Mome, stupid person. Momus, the son of 
Night, used as a personification of the critical spirit. 

54. Midas, king of Phrygia. Having been chosen 
to judge between the musical abilities of Apollo and 
Marsyas, he awarded the prize to Marsyas. Apollo 
changed his ears into those of an ass, 

55. Bubonax. The story goes that Hipponax, an 
Ephesian poet (c. 500 B. C.) so savagely satirized 
the sculptor Bupalus that he hanged himself. The 
spelling Bubonax is the error either of Sidney or 
of his printer. 

57. done in Ireland. It is said that the Irish 
peasants had a superstitious fear of the bards, 

ASTROPHEL AND STELLA 

88. a. XV, 2. Parnassus, a mountain-ridge in Greece, 
near ancient Delphi, frequented by Apollo, the 
muses, and the nymphs, and hence the seat of music 
and poetry. 

7, Petrarch's long-deceased woes. The celebrated 
Italian poet Petrarch (1304— 1374) wrote sonnets to 
his Laura which later set the fashion for Eliza- 
bethan sonneteers, 

8. denizened, made a citizen, naturalized, adopted, 

9. far-fet, far-fetched, 

10, bewray, reveaU 
14, endiie, compose. 

XXI, 1. caustics, medical substances which burn 
animal tissue, 

2, windlass, bewilder, 

5. Plato, Athenian philosopher (429?— 347 B. C). 
but-if, unless. 

89. a. Lxiv, 9. Aristotle's wit. Aristotle (384-322 
B. C), the most famous of Greek philosophers. 

10. Ccesar's bleeding fame. Julius Caesar 102—44 
B. C), assassinated by Brutus, Cassius, and others 
in the senate-house at Rome, 

ELEVENTH SONG 

90. a. 42. Argus' eyes. In Greek legend, Argus is 
famed to have had 100 eyes, 

SONG: THE NIGHTINGALE 

8. Tereus. Tereus abandoned his wife Procne in 
order to dishonor her sister Philomela. 

9. Philomela, After having been dishonored by 
Tereus, Philomela was metamorphosed into a 
nightingale. 

LOVE IS DEAD 
8. franzie, frenzy. 



NOTES 



Ixxvi'i 



DORUS TO PAMELA 



3. sterve, die. 
6. weeds, clothes. 



HAKLUYT'S VOYAGES 
DEDICATORY EPISTLE 
Francis Walsingham (1536-1590) was a noted 
English statesman and patron of learning. He 
served his government as member of parliament, as 
ambassador to France, as secretary of state, and as 
special ambassador to several Continental courts. 

91. a. 8. Westminster, Westminster School, estab- 
lished in Westminster Abbey by Henry VIII, and 
reestablished by Elizabeth. 

II. Middle Temple, one of the legal societies in 
London which provide instruction and examinations 
for admitting candidates to the bar. 

25. commodities, articles of merchandise. 

b. 15. Christ Church, one of the largest and 
inost fashionable of the Oxford colleges. 

92. a. 3-4. Sir Edward Stafford (i5S2?-i6os), a dis- 
tinguished English diplomatist, much in favor with 
Queen Elizabeth. 

5. Ligier (spelled also lieger, leger, ledger), an 
ordinary or resident ambassador. 
7. chargeable, weighty, onerous. 
b. 22. Aleppo, in Asiatic Turkey. 

23. Balsara, Balsar, or Bulsar, a town of British 
India, on the Gulf of Cambray. 

24. Goa, on the western coast of India. 

26. river of Plate, the Rio de la Plata, between 
Uruguay and the Argentine Republic. 

30. Nova Hispania, Mexico. 

32. South Sea, the Pacific Ocean. 

33. Lusones, islands in the Malay Archipelago in 
the South Pacific. 

THE LAST FIGHT OF THE REVENGE 
SI. armada, a fleet of war-vessels. 

53. Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618), an English 
courtier, soldier, colonizer, and writer. After a 
short residence at Oxford, he took up military serv- 
ice. Pie became a favorite of Elizabeth. In 1584 
he began his efforts towards colonizing Virginia. 
In 1588 he took an active part against the Armada. 
In 1595 he explored the Orinoco. In 1596 and 
1597 he took part in the naval expeditions against 
the Spanish. Charged with plotting to put Arabella 
Stuart on the throne, Raleigh was imprisoned in 
1603. In 1616 he was released to command an ex- 
pedition to Guiana and the Orinoco. The expedi- 
tion failed, and on his return he was condemned 
and executed. 

54. Lord Thomas Howard (1561—1626), a distin- 
guished naval officer and statesman. 

57. pinnaces, large ship's boats. 
93. a. 17. pestered, crowded, rummaging, making 
a disturbance. 

39. recovered, regained, returned to. 

43. shrouded, covered, concealed. 

48. Sir Richard Grenville (c. 1541—1591), a Brit- 
ish naval hero, cousin of Sir Walter Raleigh. In 
1585 he commanded a fleet of seven vessels which 
slJtred in the colonization of Virginia. In 1591 he 



served as vice-admiral in the fleet of 16 vessels un- 
der Lord Thomas Howard which sailed to Azores to 
intercept the Spanish treasure-ships. He died a 
few days after the battle recounted in the present 
text. 

36. Bona Speransa, Cape of Good Hope. 

Z7. St. Helena, an island off the west coast of 
Africa. 

b. 9—10. sprang their luff, sailed nearer to the 
wind. 

22. charged. The sense of this word is unknown. 
It may mean ' timbered.' 

28. admiral, the ship that carries the commander- 
in-chief. Biscayans, inhabitants of Biscay, a prov- 
ince of northern Spain. 

33. right out of her chase, directly ahead from 
her bow. 

94. a. 16. galleons, large unwieldy ships, usually 
having three or four decks. 

24. Lima, a city of Peru, in South America. 

47. armadas, single war-vessels. 

95. a. 36. galley, i.e., service as prisoner on a gal- 
ley. 

linschoten's testimony 

Jean-Hugues van Linschoten (1563— 1611), was a 
Dutch voyager who cruised widely in the Pacific, in 
the Indian Ocean, and in the northern seas. 

50. Corvo, the most northerly of the Azores. 

57. Lord Thomas Howard, see 92. b. 2, note. 
b. 4. Sir Richard Grenville, see 93. a. 48, note. 

the loss of sir HUMPHREY GILBERT 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert (c. 1539—1583) was an 
English navigator and soldier, a stepbrother of Sir 
Walter Raleigh. After military services in Ireland 
and the Netherlands, he began (1578) his voyages 
of exploration and discovery. On June 11, 1583, 
he set out for North America, and on Aug. 5 
landed at St. John's, where he established the first 
English colony in North America. On the return 
voyage his vessel, the Squirrel, foundered in a 
storm. 

96. a. 52. large, fair, favorable. 

57. Cape Race, the southeastern extremity of 
Newfoundland. 

97. a. 7. St. John's, a town on the island of 
Newfoundland. 

b. 2. fights, screens designed for the protection 
of men during a battle. 

48. Castor and Pollux, a name given to the elec- 
tric phenomenon known as St. Elmo's Fire. The 
phenomenon consists of the appearance, especially 
in southern climates, during thunder storms, of a 
brush or star of light. 

98. a. 26. flaw, a sudden gust of wind. 

A REPORT OF VIRGINIA 
38. Sir Walter Raleigh, see 92. b. 53, note. 
54. humors, bodily fluids. 

RALEIGH's DISCOVERY OF GUIANA 
Guiana signified a region extending inland fron" 
the northeast coast of South America. 
b. 39. this river, the Carcni River. 



Jxxviii 



NOTES 



43. Caroli, the Caroni River, flowing northward 
and emptying into the Orinoco. 

51. shot, persons who bear firearms, 

57. casique, or cacique, a native chief of the 
aborigines in the West Indies and adjacent parts of 
America. 

99. a. 32. footman, pedestrian. 

b. 16. marquesite, marcasite, crystallized forms 
of iron pyrites. ^ 

22. Caracas. A tribe of Indians, called Caracas, 
formerly occupied the valleys about the present city, 
Caracas, the capital of modern Venezuela. 

29. hica, the Inca Empire, ruled by the Incas, 
the reigning order in ancient Peru. 

100. o. 19. provant, provender. 

25. Cortes, Fernando Cortez (1485—1547), the fa- 
mous Spanish soldier who conquered Mexico, the 
City of Mexico falling in 1521. Pizarro, Francisco 
Pizarro (c. 1471— 1541), the Spanish soldier who 
conquered Peru. Pizarro extorted from the Inca 
Atahualpa a sum estimated at $15,000,000 of mod- 
ern money. 

39. cania, or anta, names of the common tapir. 
55. tortugas, tortoises, lagartos, alligators, or 

crocodiles. 

b. 2. calentura, fever. 

SIR FRANCIS DRAKE AT SAN DOMINGO 

100. b. 12. Sir Francis Drake, see p. 217. 

101. b. II. provost martial, an army officer who 
acts as head of police of a district, town, or camp. 

DRAKE IN CALIFORNIA 

40. Sir Francis Drake, see p. 217. 
54. the Line, the equator. 

102. a. 15. cauls, nets for confining the hair. 
b, 33. coney, rabbit. 

103. b. 25. want, a mole. 

SPENSER: THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDAR 
FEBRUARIE 

2. tasswage, to subside. 

gryde, pierce. 

rentes, young bullocks. 

doen, do. 

wont, are accustomed, wrigle, wriggling. 

Perke, pert, brisk, avales, subsides, droops. 

Lewdly, foolishly. 

, wracke, violence. 

16. lusty prime, pleasant spring-time. 
, that, that which. 
, mought, might. 
, cheare, countenance. 
, nie, nigh. 

, wrye, awry, crooked. 
, Good Fryday, Friday before Easter. 
, unwont, unaccustomed. 
, heardgroomes, herdsmen. 
, broomes, a kind of shrub. 
, deemen, deem, judge. 
, fond, foolish. 
, eft, afterwards. 

breme, rough, chamfred, wrinkled, furrowed. 

cruddles, curdles. 



104. 
4- 

5- 
6. 
7. 
8. 
9- 
10, 
105. 
22, 
24, 
26, 
27, 
28, 
30. 
32. 
35. 
36, 
38. 
39. 
42, 
43. 
46, 



47. corage accoied, heart daunted. 
49. surquedrie, arrogance, pride. 
52. spil, mar, ruin. 

54. elde, old age. 

55. sicker, certainly, tottie, tottering. 

56. corbe, crooked. 

57. lopp, branch. 

58. Als, also, cropp, cut off. 
62. hery, praise. 

65. gelt, gold. 

66. buegle, bead-work. 

67. faine, glad. 

69. fan, a foolish fellow. 
71. brag, ostentatious. 
y2. smirke, smart. 

74. dewelap, throat-wattle, lythe, pliant. 

75. venteth, snuffs. 
•jT, can, knows. 

78. lustlesse, listless, feeble. 
80. flocks father, ram. 

82. crags, necks. 

83. rather lambes, lambs born early in the year. 
86. headlessehood, heedlessness. 

89. ynne, inn, abode. 

90. stoopegallaunt age, age which subdues gal 
lantry. 

92. cond, learned. Tityrus, Chaucer. The ' tale ' 
that follows is, of course, not from Chaucer. 

95. novells, news, or tales, devise, telling. 

96. theived, founded in morality. 

97. bespoke, spoke of, 

98. meete, fitting. 
104. largely, widely. 

106. pight, fixed, planted. 

107. throughly, thoroughly. 
106. 108. Whilome, formerly. 

109. mochell mast, many acorns, husband, mas< 
ter of the house. 

no. larded, fattened. 
Ill, rine, rind, bark, 

114, honor, i.e., foliage. 

115. Br ere, briar. 
117. threat, threaten. 
119. ivonncd, were wont. 

121. peinct, paint, decorate. 

122. shrowde, take shelter. 

124. wexe, wax, grow. 

125. cast him, planned. 

126. snebbe, snub, reprove, for, because. 
131, engrained, dyed, lusty, pleasant. 

133. wast, waste. 

134. dirks, darkens. 

135. accloieth, encumbers. 

140. againe, back. 

141. adawed, subdued. 

145. survewe, oversee, survey. 

146. trees of state, stately trees. 

151. Pleaseth, 2d pers. plur. imperative, ponder, 
weigh, consider. 

154. recur e, cure, heal. 

155, doole, grief. 
157. aghast, amazed. 
160. painted, false. 

162. colowred, colored, disguised. 
167. prime, spring-time. 



NOTES 



Ixxix 



169. falls, happens. 

178. coronall, garland. 

182. defast, defaced, destroyed. 

184. goodtihead, goodness. 

185. ranckorous, sharp. 
187. sufferance, patience. 

189. cast him, prepared. 

190. couth, knew. 

192. noulde, would not. 

195. hent, seized. 

200. enaunter, lest, mought, might, should. 

202. wast, waste. 

203. againe, back. 
206. eld, old age. 

209. crcwe, cruet, cruise, vessel. 

107. 211. sike, such. 
213. quitten, free. 

223. pleasaunce, pleasure. 

225. eftsones, forthwith. 

226. Boreas, north-wind. 

242. graffed, grafted. 

243. frame, frozen. 

244. galage, wooden shoe. 

245. ease, pleasure, lewd, foolish, rude. 

248—9. ' God, since he is old, makes his own in 
his own likeness.' 

251—2. ' No old man fears God.' 

OCTOBER 

3. Ungring Phwbus race, lingering daylight. 

4. Whilome thou wont, formerly thou used. 

5. hydding base, the game of prisoners'-base. 
II. pleasaunce, pleasure. 

12-1 ligge so layd, lie so subdued. 
\2. wont, used to. 
14» f''y> children, youth. 

15. what . . , forthy, how am I the better 
for that? 

23. pleasaunce of thy vaine, pleasure of thy vein. 

24. ' To whatever it pleases thee to entice their 
allured wills.' 

26. routes, crowds. 

28. shepheard, i.e., Orpheus. dame, i.e., Eury- 
dice. I 

29. Plutoes balefull bowrc i.e.. Hades. 

32. Argus biasing eye. The spots in the pea- 
cock's tail are said to be Argus' hundred eyes. 

33. forthy, for that. 

35. sike, such, sheddeth, disperses. 

108, 37. clou/ne, lout, low fellow. 
39. giusts, jousts. 

41. doubted, dreaded. 

42. wexen, wax, grow. 

45. Whither thou list, whether thou choose. Elisa, 
Queen Elizabeth. 

47. the zuorthy, the hero, i.e., the Earl of Leices- 
ter. 

48. white beare, Leicester's cognizance was a bear 
and a ragged staff. 

49. stounds, efforts. 

50. slackt the tenor of, lowered the pitch of. 

51. lustihead, pleasure, tho, then. 

52. the myllers, a kind of dance. 

53. All, although, thilke, that. 
(4. mought, might. 



55. Romish Tityrus, Virgil. 

56. Mccanas, Msecenas, patron of Virgil. 
59. eft, afterwards. 

62. Augustus, the Roman emperor. 

63. liggen, lie. 

65. derring doe, daring deeds. 

66. hem, them, 

68. brought . . . ease, brought to a bed of 
ease. 

69. found , . . preace, found nothing worth 
putting forth for competition. 

y2. pend, penned. 

75. mote, must, fayne, feign. 

76. rybaudrye. ribaldry. 

78, Tom Piper, the piper who accompanied Mor- 
ris-dancers. 

87. peeced, patched, imperfect. 

88. Colin, i.e., Spenser, scanne, mount, 

89. bedight, dressed. 

90. soothe, sweetly. 

91. fan, foolish fellow. 

95. caytive corage, base mind. 

98. tyranne fell, baneful tyrant. 

loi. wont, are accustomed. 

103. ' Whoever thinks to accomplish great things.' 

105. ' Let him pour down plentiful draughts and 
nourishing food.' 

106. Bacchus fruite, wine. Phwbus, god of 
poetry. 

109. 113. buskin, the high-heeled boot worn by ac- 
tors in tragedy, 

114. queint, elegant. Bellona, goddess of war. 

115. corage, mind, heart. 

116. Forthy, therefore. 

117. han us assay de, have attacked us. 

118. charme, temper. 

119. gates, goats. 

122. ' With his urging we become inflamed, etc' 

THE FAERIE QUEENE. BOOK I 

1. whylome, formerly, maske, go disguised. 

2, shephards weeds, a graceful reference to Spen- 
ser's own earlier Shepherd's Calendar. 

7. areeds, counsels. 

10, holy virgin, refers to Clio, the muse of his- 
tory. 

12, scryne, chest for papers. 

14. Tanaquill, a British princess, daughter of 
Oberon, king of fairyland. In the allegory Tana- 
quill is probably Queen Elizabeth. 

15, Briton Prince, Prince Arthur, representing in 
the allegory, probably, the Earl of Leicester, 

17, rue, pity. 

19. dreaded impe, Cupid, god of love. 

21. rove, shoot an arrow with an elevation, not 

point blank. 

23. heben, ebony. 

25. Mart, Mars. 

28. Goddesse, Queen Elizabeth. 

31. Phoebus, Apollo, the sun-god. 

32. eync, eyes. 

32. type of thine, Una, who represents truth in 
the allegory. 

35. afflicted, cast down, 

36. dearest dread, dearest object of reverence. 



Ixxx 



NOTES 



CANTO I 

I, knight, the Redcross Knight, representing the 
English church militant, pricking, riding. 
6. chide, chafe, grind. 

110. 9. giusts, jousts. 

14. scor'd, traced. 

15. For soveraine hope, as a sign of supreme 
hope. 

17. cheer e, countenance. 

18. ydrad, dreaded, feared. 
20. Gloriana, Queen Elizabeth. 
22. viorshippe, honor. 

24. earne, yearn. 

25. puissance, power, prowess. 

27. dragon, ' the great dragon . . . called the 
devil.' Revelation, xii, 9. 

28. ladie, Una. 

31. wimpled, pleated. 

36. in a line, by a cord, lamhe, symbolizing in- 
nocence. 

44. Forwasted, utterly wasted. 

45. compeld, summoned. 

46. dwarfe, symbolizing prudence, or common 
sense. 

52. lemans, sweet-heart's. 

53. zvight, person, creature, shrowd, take shelter. 

54. fain, glad. 

55. covert, hiding-place. 

56. shadie grove, the wood of Error. 
60. Not perceable with, impervious to. 

63. ' A fair shelter it seems to them when they 
have entered.' 

69. sayling pine, pine used for building ships. 

70. poplar never dry, never dry because it grows 
especially well in moist soil. 

71. builder oake, oak used for building. 

72. cypresse funerall, the cypress, emblematic of 
death. 

73. meed, reward. 

74. weepeth still, weeps always. The fir exudes 
a resinous substance. 

75. paramours, lovers. 

76. eugh, yew. 

111. 77. sallow, a kind of willow. 

78. The mirrhe. The Arabian myrtle exudes a 
bitter but fragrant gum. The allusion is to the 
wounding of Myrrha by her father and her meta- 
morphosis into a tree. 

79. warlike beech. Lances and other arms were 
made of beech, ash for nothing ill. The ash 
served many purposes. 

80. platane, plane-tree. 

81. carver holme. The evergreen oak was good 
for carving. 

84. weening, thinking. 
88. doubt, fear. 

94. about, out of. 

95. by tract, by trace. 
98. Eftsoones, forthwith. 
103. doubts, fears. 

106^7. shame . . . shade, ' it were shameful 
to checic forward steps for fear of an unseen dan- 
ger.' 

108. wade, walk, go, pass. 

no. wot, know» 



114. wandring wood, wood that causes men to go 
astray. 

118. greedy hardiment, eager boldness. 

122. glooming, gloaming, twilight. 

126. full . . . disdain, full of vileness that 
breeds disgust in the beholder. 

129. boughtes, folds, coils. 

130. bred, were born. 

133- m favored, of ugly appearance. 

134. uncouth, unknown, strange. 

136. upstart, started up. effraide, frightened. 

139. entraile, fold, coil. 

112. 141. Armed to point, completely armed. 
143. Ay wont, ever accustomed. 

145. Elfe, so called because he was reputed to be 
the son of an elf or fairy. 

147. trenchand, sharp, cutting. 

152. enhaunst, raised. 

154. dint, stroke. 

158. Tho, then, wrethed, twisted. 

161. That, so that. 

163. constraint, distress. 

168. ' His anger was aroused because of pain and 
great disgust.' grate, chafe. 

170. gorge, throat. 

172. maw, stomach. 

174. gobbets, lumps, pieces. 

175. vildly, vilely. 

177. bookes and papers, allegorically the scur- 
rilous Catholic pamphlets that had been launched 
against Elizabeth and the reformed Church of Eng- 
land. 

[80. parbreake, vomit. 

[83. outwell, pour out. 

185. ovale, subside. 

[89. reed, perceive. " 

[94. sinke, hoard, deposit. 

200. welke, fade, grow dim. 

113. 206. clownish, rough, rude. 
208. bestedd, situated. 

212. lin, cease. 

213. manly, human. 

215. raft, struck away. 

216. corse, body. 
225. eke, also. 

227. unkindly, unnatural. 

233. needeth him, needs he. 

234. should contend, should have had to contend. 
239. armory, armor. 

243. like succeed it may, similar successful ad- 
ventures may follow. 

248. still, ever, always. 

250. to frend, as friend. 

254. aged sire, Archimago, the false enchanter. 
In general he represents hypocrisy and the Church 
of Rome. 

259, shew, appearance. 

262. touting, bowing. 

263. him quited, paid him back, responded. 

267. silly, simple, innocent. 

268. Bidding his beades, praying his prayers. 
270. sits not, is not fitting. Mell, mingle, meddle. 

114. 277. zveare, spend. 

279. space, time. 

280. wastefull, barren. 



NOTES 



Ixxxi 



282. thorough, through. 

285. forwearied, greatly wearied. 

288. baite, feed, refresh. 

295. take up your in, take lodging. 

301. a little wyde, a little way off. 

302. edifyde, built. 

303. wont, was wont. 

315. Ave-Mary, Hail Mary, a prayer to the Vir- 
gin. 

317. Sad humor, heavy moisture. 

318. Morpheus, god of sleep. 

319. deaw, dew. 

320. riddes, removes. 
322. ainiddes, amid. 

328. Plutoes griesly dame, Proserpine. 

332. Great Gorgon, Demogorgon, whose name was 
not to be uttered, and who had magical power over 
the spirits of the lower world. 

333. Cocytus, the river of wailing. Styx, the river 
of hate. Both rivers were in Hades. 

115. 338. fray, frighten. 
343. spersed, dispersed. 
348. Tethys, the ocean. 
348. Cynthia, the moon. 
360. takes keepe, pays heed. 
367. still, always. 

372. mought, might. 

373. paine, effort. 

376. dryer braine, too dry brain. It was sup- 
posed that a dry brain was slow in physiological 
processes. 

378. all, entirely. 

381. Hecate, queen of demons in Hades, and ruler 
of witches on earth. 

382. lonipish, dull. 
387. sent, sense. 

389. diverse, perverse. 

391. carke, care, anxiety. 

392. siarke, stiff. 
396. afore, before. 

116. 405. like, likely, seeme for, represent. 

409. fantasy, fancy. 

410. ' In the way in which he schooled him se- 
cretly.' 

411. without her dew, in an unnatural manner. 
429. leman, lover. 

431. Hymen id Hymen, refrain of a Roman nup- 
tial song. Hymen was god of marriage. 

432. Flora, goddess of flowers. 

443. guise, appearance. 

444. despight, indignation. 

445. sufferance, patience, 

447. ' To test his perception and prove her 
feigned truth.' 

449. Tho can, then did. ruth, pity. 

454. blind god, Cupid, amate, dismay, dishearten. 

462. bereave, take away. 

468. frayes, frightens. 

469. deare constraint, grievous distress. 

117. 473. redoubted, terrible. 

476. shend, revile, reproach, rew, pity, regret. 

483. appease, cease from. 

484. beguiled of, disappointed in. 

491. irksome, troubled, spright, spirit. 



CANTO II 

1. northerne wagoner, constellation of Bootes, sit- 
uated behind the Great Bear. 

2. sevenfold tetne, seven stars of Ursa Major, the 
Great Bear, stedfast starre, the pole-star. 

6. Chaunticlere, the cock. 

7. Phoebus fiery carre, the sun. 
13. bootelesse, useless. 

16. Prosperine, queen of the infernal regions. 
19. Eftsoones, presently. 

22. squire, an attendant on a knight, lustyhed, 
pleasure. 

26. misdeeming, misleading. 
30. repast, rest, refreshment. 
34. wex, wax, grow. 

118. 37. start, started. 
40. ment, mingled. 
43. yblent, blinded. 

49. ivast, waste, despight, anger. 

50. YrkesotJte, weary. 

51. Hesperus, the evening star. 

56. aged Tithones. Tithonus is ' aged ' because 
Aurora gave him immortality, but not eternal youth, 

58. Titan, the sun-god. 

59. drousyhed, drowsiness. 

62. wont to wait, was accustomed to watch. 
62. stowre, distress. 

84. in seeming wise, in the way of appearance. 

85. Proteus, a ^ea-god, 
87. fell, destructive. 
97. jolly, handsome. 

99. Saint George, patron saint of England. 

100. semblaunt, semblance. 

119. 104. him chaunst, he happened. 

los. Sarasin, used for pagans in general, armde 
to point, completely armed. 

107. Sans foy, faithless. 

108. a point, a speck, a bit. 

109. faire companion, Duessa, or Falsehood, who 
calls herself Fidessa. She probably represents Mary 
Queen of Scots and the Church of Rome. 

III. Purfled, embroidered on the edge, assay, 
quality, value. 

113. owches, jewels. 

115. palfrey, lady's riding-horse. 

117. bosses, ornamental studs or knobs. 

118. disport, play. 

128. dispiteous, cruel. 

129. couch, level, adjust. 

130. fell, destructive. 
135. rebutte, recoil. 

144. broken r cliques, shivered lances. 

145. buffe, blow. 

147. quyteth, pays. 

148. ' Each vies with the equal power of the 
other.' 

150. repining, indignant, courage, heart. 

155. bitter fitt, death agony. 

156. wote, know. 

157. forwarned, warded off. 

158. assured sitt, sit firm. 

159. hide thy head, i.e., behind thy shield for pro- 
tection. 

160. rigor so outrageous, force so violent. 



Ixxxii 



NOTES 



162. from . . . blest, fairly preserved him 
from harm. 

164. eftsoones, forthwith. 
166. rive, split. 

120. 171. Whether, whither. 
174. funerall, death. 

176. scowre, run fast. 
181. ruefull, sad. 
183. silly, innocent. 
188. rueth, touches with pity. 
196. emperour, the Pope. 
198. Tiberis, River Tiber. 

200. onely haire, only heir, the dauphin of France, 
the first husband of Mary Queen of Scots. 
203. debonaire, giacious, courteous. 
206. jone, foes. 

212. assaid, tried. 

213. corse, body. 

224. Sansjoy, without happiness. 

225. Sansloy, without law. 
233. rew, pity. 

121. 239. chear, countenance. 
241. gainsaid, denied, opposed. 

243. dainty . . . derth, coyness, they say, cre- 
ates desire. 

250. f ear e full, timid. 

251. ne wont, nor was accustomed to. 
258. abide, endure, tolerate. 

261. tide, time. 

262. seemely pleasaunce, pleasant courtesies. 

269. rifte, fissure. 

270. gory bloud, clotted blood. 

273. rynd, bark, embard, imprisoned. 
278. Astond, astonished, hove, rise. 
280. dreadfull passion, passion of fear. 
284. Limbo lake, abode of the damned. 

287. rare, thixi, faint. 

288. ruefiill, piteous. 

291. Fradubio, ' Brother Doubtful.' 
295. Boreas, the north-wind. 

122. 316. take in hand, maintain. 

328. Whether, which of the two. 

329. meede, reward. 
332. mote, might. 
336. cast, planned. 

342. in place, in that place. 

348. Eftsoones, forthwith. 

351. treen mould, form of a tree. 

353. unweeting, not knowing. 

355. prime, springtime. 

358, origane, wild marjoram. 

360. rew, regret. 

370. chear e, countenance. 

123. 374. bereaved, taken away, qtiight, quite. 
376. pight, placed, fixed. 

378. wights, men. 

382. living well, a flowing well. 

385. wonted well, accustomed well-being. 

386. suffised, satisfied, kynd, nature, 
391. dreriment, sorrow. 

398. unweeting, unaware. 

404. all passed feare, all fear having passed. 

AMORETTI 
I, 6. lamping, shining. 
T. spright, spirit. 



10. Helicon, a mountain in Boeotia, Greece, famous 
in mythology as the haunt of the muses. 

124. XXIV, 8. Pandora, according to Greek mythol- 
ogy, the first woman, created by command of Zeus 
in revenge for the theft of fire from heaven by 
Prometheus. The gods endowed her with such at- 
tributes as should bring misfortune to man. 

XXXIV, 10. Helice, the Great Bear. 
Lxx, 2. cote-armour, a herald's tabard. 
12. amearst, punished. 

EPITHALAMION 

125. I. learned sisters, the muses. 
8. wreck, violence. 

11. dreriment, sorrow. 
22. lustyhed, vigor, 

25. Hymen, god of marriage. 

27. tead, torch, flake, flash. 

28. bachelor, one in the first stage of knighthood. 
30. dight, dress. 

3S. solace, pleasure. 

40. zvel beseene, very comely. 

44. riband, ribbon. 

45. poses, /?owers. 

51. diapred, variegated, discolored, many-colored 
56. Mulla, island off the coast of Scotland. 

126. 75. Tithones, Tithonus, consort of Aurora. 
yy. Phcebus, the sun-god. 

80. mattins, morning service. 

81. mavis, song-thrush, descant, an accompanying 
melody. 

82. ousell, blackbird, ruddock, redbreast 

83. consent, harmony. 

86. meeter, more fitting. 

87. make, mate. 

95. Hesperus, the evening star, and also the morn- 
ing star. 

98—99. Houres, Horae, goddesses who presided 
over the changes of the seasons, and of day and 
night. 

102. still, always, ever. 

103. three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, the 
Graces, who were especially associated with Venus. 

104. 106. still, ever, always. 

108. 'And as you are accustomed to sing to 
Venus, sing to her (my bride).' 
113. strayt, presently, soon. 
121. Phcebus, Apollo. 

123. mote, may. 

124. boone, boon, prayer, favor. 
131. tabor, drvim. croud, fiddle. 

140. Hymen, Id Hymen, the refrain of a Romaic 
nuptial song. Hymen is god of marriage. 
148. portly, dignified. 

127. 151. seemes, befits. 
152. weene, think. 

165. nathlesse, nevertheless, still, ever, always. 
175. uncrudded, uncurdled, 
186. spright, spirit. 

189. red, saw. 

190. Medusaes mazeful hed. Medusa was a beau- 
tiful maiden whose hair was transformed into ser- 
pents, maseful, confounding. 

228. dyde in grayne, dyed in dye. 
234. sad, grave, still, ever. 



NOTES 



Ixxxiii 



128. 239. band, tie. 

257. Graces, the three daughters of Zeus, — Eu- 
phrosyne, Aglaia, and Thalia, — who personified 
grace and beauty. 

265. ff. This day. June i itli, St. Barnabas' day, 
was, according to Spenser's calendar, the day of the 
summer solstice. 

269. Crab, one of the signs of the zodiac. 

272. iveare, were. 

282, fayrest planet, the sun. 

285. gloome, become twilight. 

299. boures, bowers. 

304. Arras, a town in northern France formerly 
noted for its manufacture of tapestries. 

307. Maia, mother of Hermes by Zeus. 

308. Teinpe, a beautiful valley in the north of 
Thessaly. 

310. Acidalian brooke, the fountain Acidalius, in 
Boeotia, Greece. 

129. 316. defray, pay for. 

328. Alcmena, mother of Hercules by Zeus. 

329. Tirynthian groome. Hercules is said to have 
lived for many years at the city of Tiryns, in 
Greece. 

331. Majesty. By ancient poets. Night was called 
the mother of all things, and she was worshipped 
with great solemnity. 

337. dout, fear. 

340. helplesse, irremediable. 

341. Pouke, Puck, or Robin Goodfellow. 
346. still, ever, continually. 

348. griesly, horrible. 

374. Cynthia, the moon. 

376, envy, begrudge. 

380. Latmian shepard, Endymion, loved by Cin- 
thia. 

388. hap, fortune, lot. 

390. Juno, sister and wife of Jove, and protectress 
of marriage. 

130. 398. Genius, a higher power that maintains life 
and assists at the begetting and birth of each indi- 
vidual. 

405. Hebe, cup-bearer to the gods. 
414. fayne, imagine. 
421. guerdon, reward. 

429. Hasty accidents, accidents due to haste. 

430. expect, await. t^ 
433. for, instead of. 

PROTHALAMION 

Written on the occasion of the marriage, on the 
same day, of the two daughters of the Earl of 
Worcester to Henry Guilford and William Peter. 

2. Zephyrus, the west wind. 

4. Titans beanies, the sun. glyster, glitter, shine. 

8. still, always. 

11. Themmes, Thames. 

12. rutty, rooty. 

16. paramours, lovers. 

25. entrayled, intertwined. 

26. flasket, a long, shallow basket. 

27. cropt, cut, clipped, feateously, neatly. 
33. vermeil, vermilion. 

38. lee, stream. 



40. Pindus, a range of mountains in northern 
Greece. 

43. Leda. Leda was amorously approached by 
Zeus in the form of a swan. 

131. 55. Eftsoones, forthwith. 

63. Venus silver teeme, team of swans, according 
to Ovid, Metamorphoses, x. 708. 
67. Somers-heat, Somerset. 

78. Peneus, a river in Thessaly that traverses the 
Vale of Tempe. 

79. Tempes shore. Tempe is a valley in Thessaly 
celebrated for its beauty. 

100. assoile, absolve. 

no. undersong, burden, refrain, chorus. 

119. fotile, fowl. 

132. 121. Cynthia, the moon, shend, shame. 

128. kyndly nurse. Spenser was born in London. 

132. whereas, where. 

132—5. bricky towres . . , Tempter Knights. 
A reference to the Temple. After the order of 
the Knights Templar had been suppressed in the 
reign of Edward II (1307— 1327), their property on 
the bank of the Thames passed eventually into the 
hands of the students of the common law. 

137—140. a stately place . . . that great lord. 
The reference is to Leicester House, where Spen- 
ser's patron, the Earl of Leicester, dwelt for some 
years. See the life of Spenser, above, p. 104. 

145. a noble peer, the Earl of Essex. After the 
death of Leicester, in 1588, the Earl of Essex oc- 
cupied his house and gave it the name, Essex 
House. 

147. through all Spaine did thunder. A reference 
to the capture of Cadiz in 1596. Essex commanded 
the land forces. 

148. Hercules tzco pillors, the rocks on either side 
of the strait of Gibraltar. 

153-4. Probably a pun on Essex's family name, 
Devereu.v, as if it were connected with the French 
heureux, ' happy.' 

157. Elisaes glorious name. Queen Elizabeth. 

164. Hesperj the evening, and also the morning, 
star. 

173. twins of Jove, Castor and Pollux, who be- 
came the constellation Gemini. 

ELIZABETHAN LYRICS 
gascoigne: a strange passion 

133. I. bale, suffering. 

15. eschew, avoid. 

16. grutch, ill-will. 

134. 25. Philomcne, the nightingale. 

28. wray, reveal. 

29. bewray, reveal. 

dyer: my mind to me a kingdom is 

4. hind, nature, 
35. fawn, cringe to. 

RALEIGH . HIS PILGRIMAGE 
I. scallop-shell, shell of a kind of mollusk. The 
scallop-shell was the badge of a pilgrim. 
3. scrip, wallet. 



Ixxxiv 



NOTES 



135. 25. suckets, a dried sweetmeat, or a delicacy 
of any kind. 

57. palmer, a pilgrim. Specifically, a pilgrim to 
Jerusalem who brought back a palm-branch as a 
token. 

A VISION UPON THIS CONCEIT OF THE FAERY 
QUEEN 

1. Laura, celebrated in Petrarch's sonnets. 

2. vestal flame. Vesta was goddess of the hearth. 
The sacred fire, which was her symbol, was kept 
burning in her temple at home by six stainless vir- 
gins, called vestals. 

7. Petrarch (1304-1374), a celebrated Italian 
poet. 

13. sprite, spirit. 

GREENE: THE SHEPHERD's WIFe's SONG 

137. 18. curds, the thickened part of milk, eaten as 
food. 

36. spill, destroy. 

37. snort, snore. 

138. 42. tide or sithe, time or occasion. 
44. broils, disturbances. 

DANIEL: SONNETS FROM DELIA 
XIX, 2. Cytherea's son, Cupid. 

8. Thetis, chief of the sea-nymphs. 

10, Hermonius' spheres, an allusion to the music 
supposed to be made by the planets in their revolu- 
tions. Perhaps this line should read: And thy 
sweet voice give back unto the spheres. 

12. Hyrcan, pertaining to Hyrcania, a region in 
Asia bordering on the Caspian Sea, 

139. XXXVIII, 3. Laura . . . Petrarch. Petrarch's 
sonnets were inspired by his Laura. 

13. limned, described. 

L, I. Paladins, the knights of Charlemagne, and 
hence, heroic champions in general. 
2. tmiimely, archaic, obsolete. 

9. arcs, arches. 

DRAYTON: SONNETS FROM IDEA 

140. IX, 9. Bedlam, the hospital of St. Mary of 
Bethlehem in London, originally a priory, but after- 
ward used as an asylum for lunatics. 

XLiv, 6. Medea-like, Medea was granted the 
power of conferring- immortality upon her children. 

ODE XI. TO THE VIRGINIA VOYAGE 

141. 16. Eolus, god of the winds. 

2^. Golden Age, a fabled period of simplicity, 
plenty, and eternal spring. 
49. kenning, recognition, 
52. -frolic, merry. 
68. Industrious Hakluyt. See above, p. 91. 

ODE XIL TO THE CAMBBO-BRITONS 

The Cambro-Britons were the Welsh. 

The battle of Agincourt was fought near the 
northern coast of France on Oct. 25, 1415. Henry 
V, with about 15,000 men, defeated 50,000 or more 
French soldiers under the Constable d'Albret. 

5. main, sea. 

8. King Harry, Henry V. 



16. power, army. 

142. 41. Poitiers and Cressy, famous victories of 
the English in France, during the Hundred Years' 
War. The battle of Crecy was fought on Aug. 26, 
1346; the battle of Poitiers, on Sept. 19, 1356. 

45. our Grandsire. The grandfather of Henry V 
was John of Gaunt, son of Edward III. 

49. Duke of York, Edward, Duke of York, who 
fell at Agincourt. 

50. vamvard, advance-guard. 

53. Exeter, the Duke of Exeter, uncle of Henry V. 

66. Erpingham, Sir Thomas Erpingham, steward 
of the king's household. 

82. bilboes, swords. 

91. ding, strike. 

94. besprent, sprinkled. 

97—112. Gloucester . , . Clarence . , . War- 
zvick . . . Oxford . . . Suffolk , . . Beau- 
mont . . . Willoughby . . . Ferrers ... 
Fanhope, English noblemen and gentlemen who 
fought in the battle of Agincourt. 

III. doughtily, mightily, forcibly. 

113. Saint Crispin's Day, Oct. 25. 

MARLOWE: HERO AND LEANDER 
THE FIRST SESTIAD 

Leander, a youth of Abydos, in love with Hero, 
a priestess of Aphrodite at Sestos, swam the Helles- 
pont every night to visit her, until he perished one 
night in a storm. When his body was cast up on 
the shore of Sestos next morning, Hero threw her- 
self into the sea. 

Sestiad is really a Latin adjective meaning ' be- 
longing to Sestos.' 

I. Hellespont, the Strait of Dardanelles. 

143. 14. Adonis, a youth of model beauty loved by 
Venus. 

15. kirtle, close-fitting gown. 

31, buskins, shoes laced to a point above the an- 
kle. 

49. wrack, destruction. 

52. Musaus, a Greek author of the 5th century 
B. C, author of a celebrated poem on Hero and 
Leander, upon which Marlowe's poem is based. 

56. Colchos, Colchis was the region in Asia to 
which the Argonautic expedition was directed in 
quest of the golden fleece. 

59. Cynthia, the moon. 

61. Circe's wand. Circe was an enchantress who, 
with her wand, coul^: transform men into beasts. 

65. Pelops. According to a tradition, one of 
Pelops' shoulders was made of ivory. 

77, Hippolytus, son of Theseus and Hippolyta. 

144. 98. glistered, glistened. 

1 01. Phaeton, son of the sun-god, obtained per- 
mission of his father to drive his chariot across the 
heavens; but, being unable to check the horses, he 
nearly set the earth on fire. 

107. that . . . star, the moon. 

108. thirling, quivering. 

109. Latmus' mount, a mountain in Asia Minor, 
the scene of the story of Cynthia's love for Endy 
mion. 

114. Ixion's shaggy-footed race, the Centaurs. 
137. Proteus, a sea-god. 



NOTES 



Ixxxv 



146. Vulcan and his Cyclops. Vulcan, the god of 
fire and of the working of metals, had the giant 
Cyclops for his workmen. 

148. Silvanus, god of the fields and forests. 

152. turtles, turtle-doves. 

153- Vailed, bowed. 

shakspere: venus and adonis 

Adonis was a beautiful youth beloved by Venus. 
In spite of her favor, he died from a wound re- 
ceived from a boar in the chase. The flower 
anemone sprang from his blood. Moved by the 
grief of Venus, the gods of the lower world allowed 
Adonis to spend six months of the year with her on 
earth, and the remaining six among the shades. 

145. 18. coast eth, proceeds, goes. 
43. ecstasy, excitement. 

54. rate, scold, upbraid. 

55. spleens, passionate impulses. 
57. mated, bewildered. 

59. respects, considerations, thoughts 

60. In liand with, undertaking. 
62. caitiff, wretch. 

146. 78. exclaims on, cries out against. 
81. zvorm, serpent. 

94. crop, pick. 

104. vailed, lowered. 

112. still, ever, always. 

147. 141. all to naught, good for nothing. 

143. clepes, calls. 

144. Imperious, imperial. 
148. still, ever. 

152. Tvreaked, revenged. 
158. suspect, suspicion. 

160. With . . . insinuate, try to ingratiate 
oneself with. 

169, fond, foolish. 

175. lure, a call or decoy, used to attract a falcon. 

200. trenched, gashed. 

148. 207. passions, grieves. 
■231, 234- fair, beauty. 
242, fear, frighten. 

246. silly, innocent, helpless. 

253. urchin-snouted, with snout like that of a 
hedgehog. 

263. nuzzling, thrusting his nose in. 

149. 305. toward, fitting. 
311. Sith, since. 

316. A purple flower, the anemone. 
323. crops, plucks, breaks oif. 

150. 341. Paphos, a town in Cyprus, the chief seat 
of the worship of Venus. 

SONNETS 
XII, 2. brave, beautiful. 

9. question make, consider. 
XV, 9. conceit, conception. 
II. debateth, combats. 
XVIII, 7. fair, beauty. 

151. XXX, 6. dateless, endless. 

8. moan the expense, lament the loss. 

10. tell, count. 

XXXIII, 6. rack, mass of floating clouds. 
Liv, 5. canker-blooms, dog-roses. 



8. discloses, uncloses. 

9. for, because. 

10. unrespected, unregarded. 

Lv, 3. in these contents, in the contents of these 
verses. 

Lx, 7. Crooked, malignant. 

8. confound, destroy. 

9. flourish, decoration. 

10. delves the parallels, digs the furrows. 
13. times in hope, future times. 

152. Lxv, 4. action, perhaps in the sense of ' legal 
action.' 

Lxvi, II. simplicity, folly. 

153. Lxxvi, 5. still, always, 
xcvil, 7. prime, spring. 

10. hope of orphans, such hope as orphans bring, 
xcviii, 2. proud-pied, gaily variegated. 
4. That, so that. Saturn, a planet of melancholy 
influence. 

6. different flowers in, flowers different in. 
xcix, 6. for thy hand, for stealing the whiteness 

of thy hand. 

13. canker, canker-worm. 

CIV, 10. Steal from his figure, creep away from 
the figure on the dial. 

cvi, 8. master, control, possess. 

154. cvii, 10. subscribes, yields, submits. 
12. instills o'er, exults over. 

cix, 2. qualify, temper, moderate. 

7. Just , . . time, punctual, exchanged, al- 
tered. 

ex, 2. motley, fool. 

6. strangely, distantly, distrustfully. 

7. blenches, startings-aside. 
10. grind, whet. 

CXI, 10. eisel, vinegar, 
cxix, 2. limbecks, alembics. 

155. cxxviii, 5. jacks, here used in the sense of 
' keys ' of the virginal or the harpsichord. 

cxxx, 5. damasked, variegated. 
cxLVi, 10. aggravate, increase. 

SONG FROM love's LABOR 's LOST 

8. keel, skim. 

ENGLAND'S HELICON : PHYLLIDA AND CORYDON 

157. 21. silly, innocent, simple. 

AS IT FELL UPON A DAY 
23. King Pandion, father of Philomela (the night- 
ingale). 

HAPPY SHEPHERDS 

158. 3. wight, creature. 

31. Circe's wand. Circe was an enchantress, able 
to transform men into beasts. 

THE shepherd's COMMENDATION 

19. Cynthia's silver light, moonlight. 
26. damask-rose, a species of pink rose 

31. Phxbus, god of the sun. 

32. Thetis, goddess of the sea. 

159. 40. Dea, an early Roman goddess. 



Ixxxvi 



NOTES 



SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS 

CAMPION : CHANCE AND CHANGE 

160. 9. toys, trifles. 

13. point to the world, dot in comparison with the 
universe. 

A RENUNCIATION 
3. mere, absolute, pure. 

JONSON: AN EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY 

162. II. three filled aodiacs, three full years. 

12. The stage's jewel. Salathiel Pavy was a child 
of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel, and, apparently, a boy 
actor of great talent. 

15. Parca, the Fates. 

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER 

WILLIAM SHAKSPERE 
20. Beaumont. Francis Beaumont (1584-1616), 
an English dramatist and lyrist. 

163. 29. Lyly. John Lyly (isS4i'-i6o6), an English 
dramatist and lyiust. 

30. Kyd. Thomas Kyd (iSS7?-i59S?), an Eng- 
lish dramatist who wrote ' tragedies of blood.' Mar- 
lowe's mighty line. Christopher Marlowe (1564?- 
1593), an English poet and dramatist. Marlowe's 
plays are written in sonorous blank verse. 

33. Aischylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, the 
great Greek writers of tragedy, of the 5th century 
B.C. 

35. Pacuvius, a Roman tragic poet (c. 220-c. 129 
B.C.). Accius, a Roman tragic poet (born c. 170 
B. C). him of Cordova^ Seneca (c. 4 B. C.-6s 
A. D.), a Roman Stoic philosopher and writer of 
tragedy. 

36. buskin, the cothurnus, or high boot, anciently 
worn by actors in tragedy. 

Z7. socks. The sock (Latin soccus) was a light 
shoe worn by the ancient actors of comedy. 

45. Apollo. Apollo, the god of light, was also 
patron of music and poetry. 

46. Mercury, the messenger of the gods, noted for 
his versatility and power of fascination. 

51. Aristophanes, greatest of the Greek comic 
poets (c. 448-c. 380 B. C). 

52. Terence, a celebrated Roman writer of com- 
edy (c. 185-C. 159 B. C). Plautus, a Roman writer 
of comedy (died 184 B. C). 

71. Swan of Avon, a reference to Shakspere's 
birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon. 

74. Elisa, Queen Elizabeth. James, James I. 

A PINDARIC ODE 

Pindar (c. 522-433 B.C.), the greatest of the 
Greek lyric poets, was especially famous for his 
odes. Sir Lucius Gary (c. 1610-1643) was a poli- 
tician and a man of letters. He married the sister 
of Sir Henry Morison. 

I. infant of Saguntum. Saguntum was a town in 
Spain besieged and taken by the great Carthaginian 
general, Hannibal, in 219 B.C. The story here re- 
counted by Jonson was actually recorded by Pliny, 
the Roman historian. 

9. summed, complete. • 



164. 43. Morison fell young. Morison died before 
the marriage of Gary in 1630. 

89. asterism, cluster of stars. 

93. Dioscuri, the sons of Zeus, Castor and Pollux. 
Even after their burial they were kept alive, living 
and dying on alternate days. 

DONNE : SONG 

165. 2. mandrake root. The root of the mandrake 
somewhat resembles the human body in shape. It 
was used in amorous incantations, and was the focus 
of numerous superstitions. 

THE CANONIZATION 

166. 23. The phoenix riddle. It was said that the 
phoenix, after living 500 (or 1,000) years, made a 
nest of spices, burned itself to ashes, and came forth 
with renewed life for another similar period. 

FORGET 

167. II. Lethean flood. Lethe was one of the 
streams of Hades, the waters of which caused those 
who drank of them to forget their previous exist- 
ence. 

FLETCHER: SONG TO BACCHUS 

168. I. Lyaus, a surname of Bacchus. 
3. lusty, pleasant, healthy. 

5. mazer's brim, A mazer is a bowl or large 
drinking cup. 

BROWNE: Britannia's pastorals, book ii, 

SONG I 

170. 8. Willy. In this song Browne is paying a 
tribute to William Ferrar, son of an eminent Lon- 
don merchant. The boy died young at sea. 

171. 9. Thetis' train. Thetis was the mythical 
queen of the nereids, or sea-nymphs. 

25. Arion-like. Arion, a Greek poet of Lesbos, 
flourished probably about 700 B. C. The story runs 
that while he was returning from a musical contest 
in Sicily, he was thrown into the sea by the sailors, 
but was saved and carried to shore by dolphins that 
had gathered about the ship to listen to his lyre. 

BOOK II, SONG V 
12. Mona's . . . isle, the island of Anglesea 
off the northwest coast of Wales. 

26. Teneriffe, a peak upon the largest of the Ca- 
nary Islands. 

zy. hernshaw, heron. 

32. Nestor's years. Nestor was famous as the 
oldest councilor of the Greeks while they were be- 
sieging Troy. 

44. brave, handsome. Latmus, a mountain in 
Caria, in Asia Minor, the scene of the story or 
Selene (the moon) and Endymion. 

52. Tellus' hair. Tellus was a goddess personify- 
ing the earth. 

ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE 
Mary Sidney, Countess of Pembroke (1557-1621), 
was a sister of Sir Philip Sidney. To her he dedi- 
cated his Arcadia. 

172. 10. Niobe. Too proud of her numerous 



NOTES 



Ixxxvii 



progeny, Niobe provoked the anger of Apollo and 
Artemis, who slew her children with arrows. Zeus 
metamorphosed Niobe into stone. 

HERRICK : CORINNA 's GOING A-MAYING 

10. matins, the first of the ecclesiastical services 
for the day. 

17. Flora, goddess of the spring and of flowers. 

2$. Titan, the sun personified. 

28. beads, prayers. 
173. 66. shade, ghost. 

AN ODE FOR BEN JONSON 
/l74. 5—6. Sun, Dog, Triple Tun, names of taverns. 
7. clusters, gatherings of persons. 

A THANKSGIVING TO GOD 
12. state, show, formality. 
22. unfiead, not stripped. 
28. pulse, seeds of leguminous plants. 
31. worts, plants, greens, pur slain, purslane, a 
plant often used in salads. 

39. wassail bowls, bowls for drinking healths. 

GRACE FOR A CHILD 
3. paddocks, toads. 
S. benison, blessing. 

HERBERT: THE COLLAR 
175. 5. store, abundance. 

14. bays, garlands or crowns bestowed as prizes. 



CAREW : SONG 
176. 3. orient, bright and clear. 

18. Phwni.v. See note to Donne: 
tion, p. 166, 1. 23. 



The Canoni~a- 



SONG 

177. 6. orhs, spheres. An allusion to the music 
made by the revolving of the spheres. 

THE PROTESTATION 
II. Lethe, one of the streams of Hades, the waters 
of which caused those who drank to forget their 
previous existence. 

WALLER : THE STORY OF PHCEBUS AND DAPHNE 

178. 3. Phoobus, Apollo, god of light, poetry, and 
music. 

4. Daplnie, a nymph. 
20. bays, garlands. 

SUCKLING : A DOUBT OF MARTYRDOM 

179. 5. Whether, which, chaplets, wreaths. 

19. Elysium, the abode of the souls of the good. 

23. Sophonisba, a Carthaginian woman (died c. 
204 B. C.) who was betrothed to a Numidian prince 
Masinissa, afterwards married Syphax, and later 
married Masinissa, after he had conquered her hus- 
band. 

26-8. Philoclea . . . Pirocles . . . Amphialus, 
characters in Sir Philip Sidney's pastoral romance 
Arcadia. See p. 81. 



CRASHAW : IN THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OUR 
LORD GOD 

180. 15—16. Tityrus . . . Thyrsis, conventional 
names for shepherds. 

46. phoenix. See 166. 23, note. 

181. 98. Maia, an old Italian goddess of spring. 



DENHAM: on MR. ABRAHAM COWLEY's DEATH 
For selections from Cowley, see p. 183. 

182. 7. Aurora, the dawn. Spenser. See above, 
pp. 104 ff. 

10. Pha'bus, Apollo, god of poetry and music. 

11. Jonson. See p. 161. Fletcher. See p. 168. 
16. bays, wreaths. 

35. Horace, Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 
B. C), a famous Roman lyric and satirical poet. 
state, stateliness. 

40. Jason. Jason with other Argonauts made an 
expedition to Colchis, in Asia, to obtain the Golden 
Fleece. 

43. Flaccus, the Roman poet Horace. 

44. The Thcban Swan, Pindar (c. 522-443 B. C), 
the greatest of the Greek lyric poets. 

LOVELACE : THE ROSE 

183. s- Flora, goddess of spring and flowers. 

6. Aurora, the dawn. 
II. coverled, coverlet. 

14. Silenus, the foster-father of Bacchus, and 
leader of the satyrs. 

COVi^LEY: THE SWALLOW 
4-S. Tereus . . . Philomel. Tereus, after dis- 
honoring his sister-in-law Philomela, deprived her 
of her tongue. Philomela was afterward metamor- 
phosed into a nightingale. 

marvel: the garden 

184. 2. bays, wreaths, often of laurel. 
5. narrow-verged, of narrow margin. 

29. Apollo . . . Daphne. Daphne, daughter 
of the river-god Peneus, was pursued by Apollo, 
who had been charmed by her beauty. She prayed 
for aid, and was metamorphosed into a laurel-tree. 

31. Pan . . . Syrinx. Syrinx, an Arcadian 
maid, when pursued by Pan was, as the result of 
her own prayer, metamorphosed into a reed. 

TO HIS COY MISTRESS 

185. s. Ganges, the sacred river of India. 

7. Number, an estuary on the eastern coast of 
England. 

40. slow-chapt, slowly cracked, or, perhaps, slowly 
devouring. 

BACON: ESSAYS 



I.— OF TRUTH 



187 

7- 



a. 5. jesting Pilate. See Jolui xviii, 38. 
in giddiness, in quick change of opinion. 

b. 2. at a stand, at a loss. 

8. masques, mummeries, triumphs. Evening shows 
or entertainments. 



Ixxxviii 



NOTES 



188. a. 3. One of the fathers. Both Jerome and 
Augustine have a similar saying; neither uses ex- 
actly these words. 

29. The poet, Lucretius (ist century B. C.) in 
the Latin poem On the Nature of Things. 

30. the sect, of the Epicureans. 

52. round, straightforward, or as we should say, 
square. 

b. 4. Montaigne. Essays ii, 18. 
17. ii being foretold. Luke xviii, 8. 

i V. — OF ADVERSITY 

24. Seneca. The Roman philosopher and tutor 
of Nero (4 B. C.-65 A. D.). Both the passages 
quoted are from his Epistles. 

39. transcendencies, hyperboles, exaggerations. 

53. in a viean, in a moderate or prosaic style. 

54. temperance, moderation. 

VII. — OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN 

189. a. 53. Solomon saith. Proverbs x, i. 
b. 7. shifts, subterfuges. 

27. the precept. Ascribed by Plutarch to the 
Pythagoreans. Plutarch (ist century A. D.) wrote 
in Greek, but Bacon doubtless read him in a Latin 
translation. 

VIII. — OF MARRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE 
51. impediments, hindrances, in the sense that 
they may deter a man from taking big risks. 

190. a. 20. humorous, subject to humors, or moods. 
29. churchmen, clergymen. 

36. hortatives, exhortations. 

44. exhaust, exhausted. The form Bacon uses is 
taken directly from the Latin past participle. 

50. Ulysses refused to share immortality with the 
goddess Calypso, and returned home to his wife 
Penelope. 

b. 4. a quarrel, a pretext or excuse. 

5. one of the wise men. The saying quoted is 
ascribed by Plutarch and Montaigne to the Greek 
philosopher, Thales. 

X. — OF LOVE 
35. Marcus Antonius (83-30 B.C.), the lover of 
Cleopatra. 

37. Appius Claudius, the Roman decemvir who 
became enamored of Virginia 449 B. C. See Ma- 
caulay's Lays of Ancient Rome. 

45. saying of Epicurus. Quoted by Seneca, Epis- 
tle vii. 

56. braves, exaggerates. 
191. a. 2. it hath been well said. By Plutarch. 

9. it was well said. The reference may be to 
Publius Syrus, or to Plutarch. 

16. the reciproque, mutual affection. 

22. he that preferred Helena. Paris, who 
awarded the apple to Venus in return for the gift 
of Helen, rejecting the offers cf Ju-'o ("the sov- 
ereignty of Asia) and Pahas ^renown in war). 

34. keep quarter, keep within bounds. 

36. check, interfere. 

XII. — OF BOLDNESS 
191. b. I. Demosthenes. The story of the great 
Greek orator (385-322 B. C.) is told by Cicero and 
by Plutarch. 



29. popular, democratic. 

34. motlntebanks, quacks who sell their medicines 
from public stages. 

39. grounds, principles. 

54. slight it over, make nothing of it. 
192. a. II. stale at chess, a drawn game which 
neither party wins. 

XVII. — OF SUPERSTITION 
54. Augustus CcBsar, Emperor of Rome 31 B. C." 
14 A. D. civil, peaceful. 

56. primum mobile, the origin or cause of mo' 
tion, according to the old astronomy. 

b. 5. Council of Trent, a great ecclesiastical 
council of the Roman Catholic Church held 1545- 

1563- 

6. schoolmen. Mediaeval philosophers. 

XXIII. — OF WISDOM FOR A MAn's SELF 

so. shrewd, harmful. Bacon is wrong as to the 
fact. 

52. waste, injure. 

58. right earth, exactly like the earth. 
193. a. 12. crooked, distorts, perverts. 

13. essentric to, having a different center or mo- 
tive from. 

18. accessory, secondary. 

29. bias, a weight inserted in a bowl to make it 
run in a curve. 

38. and, if. 

43. respect, consideration. 

XXV. — OF DISPATCH 
b. 10. Affected, excessively desired. 
24. false periods, apparent conclusions, which do 
not really end the matter. 

31. a wise man. Sir Amyas Paulet. 

32. byword, proverb. 

55. moderator, presiding officer. 

56. actor, speaker. 

194. a. 4. curious, elaborate, highly wrought. 
6. passages, transitions. 

10. bravery, extravagance of dress, meant for 
show, not use. 

11. being too material, keeping too close to the 
point. 

XXVI. — OF SEEMING WISE 

46. the Apostle. Paul, 2 Timothy iii, 5. 
51. magno conatu nugas. Quoted from Terence, 
the Roman writer of comedies. 
55. prospectives, stereoscopes. 

b. 14. bear it, carry their point. 

16. by admittance, for granted. 

17, make good, prove. 
20. curious, trifling. 

22. difference, distinction. 

24. blanch the matter, gloss over or shirk the 
issue. 

46. opinion, credit. 

48. you were better, it would be better for you.- 

XXVIII. — OF EXPENSE 

58. worth, importance. 
195. o. 2. kingdom of heaven. See Matthew xix. 



NOTES 



Ixxxix 



10. of even hand. His outgo equal to his income. 
1 8. broken, bankrupt. 
20. searching, probing. 

23. new. Servants. 

26. certainties, fixed amounts. 

38. disadvantageable , disadvantageous. 

XXXII. — OF DISCOURSE 

b. 5. want, lack. 

18. jade, spur, overdrive. 

28. would he bridled, ought to be restrained. 
30. Parce — loris. Ovid, Metamorphoses ii, 127. 
35. saltness, wit. 

47. poser, an examiner putting questions. 

53, galliard, a lively dance. 

196. a. 8. himself pretendeth, he himself lays claim. 

9. of touch, reflecting upon or wounding. 

10. as a field, open, general. 

17. flout or dry blow, an insulting jest or ha,rd 
knock. 

XXXIV. — OF RICHES 

SO. conceit, fancy, imagination, saith Solomon. 
Ecclesiastes v, 11. 

56. dole and donative, gifts small and large. 
b. I. feigned, fictitious. 

7. Solomon saith. Proverbs xviii, 11, 
12. sold, betrayed. 

2S. Solomon. Proverbs xxviii, 20. 

29. poets. The saying quoted is found in the 
Greek prose writer Lucian (2nd century A. D.). 

43. enrich, become rich. 

52, husbandry, industry. '' 

54. audits, accounts. 

57. collier, owner of coal mines. 

197. a. 4. observed by one. In Plutarch. 

8. expect the prime, wait for the most favorable 
condition. 

9. overcome, take advantage of. 
12. mainly, greatly. 

19. broke, do business, negotiate. 

22. chapmen, buyers. 

24. chopping of bargains, speculation by middle- 
men. 

52. co-emption, the modern trust. 

58. service, to a monarch or nobleman. 
b. 25. glorious, ostentatious. 

29. advancements, gifts. 

XLII. — OF YOUTH AND AGE 

53. Septimius Severus, Roman Emperor 193— 211 
A. D. 

54. it is said. By Spartianus. ' 

198. a. 3. Cosmos, usually called Cosimo de' Medici, 
made Grand Duke of Tuscany, 1570. 

Gaston De Foix, a celebrated French general, 
made Duke of Nemours in 1505. 

6. composition, disposition, temperament. Young 
men, &c. Suggested by an observation of Plu- 
tarch. 

12. them, old men (implied in age), 

13. abuseth, deceives. 

17. manage, management. 

23. absurdly qualifies pursue, care, hesitate. 
32. period, conclusion. 

40. extern, external. 



45. A certain rabbin. Isaac Abrabanel (1437— 
1508). 

b. 2. Hermogenes, a famous rhetorician of the 
second century B. C. 

9. Tully. Cicero. Hortensius was his great rival 
at the Roman bar. 

16. Scipio Africanus. Roman general (234-183 
B. C.). 

16. Livy. Roman historian (59—17 B. C). 

17. Ultima primis. Quoted from Ovid. What 
Livy says is that Scipio in his later life had no 
opportunity for the military exploits for which he 
was naturally fitted. 

XLVII. — OF NEGOTIATING 
33. tender, delicate or difficult. 
43. success, result. 
48. affect, are inclined to. 
50. quickeneth, spurs on, encourages. 

199. a. 2. prescription, prestige, reputation pre- 
viously won. 

7. in appetite, eager for advancement. 

10. upon conditions. A. agrees to do something 
if B. will do something. Who is to do his part 
first? A. must unless (i) B.'s part necessarily 
comes first; or (2) A. will still need B. for some 
other part of the scheme; or (3) A. is known to be 
more trustworthy and B. can therefore depend on 
him. 

18. practice, negotiation, discover, to ascertain a 
man's plans or character, work, to induce a man 
to do something. 

24. knoiv. This verb governs nature, fashions, 
ends, weakness, disadvantages, those. 

L. — OF STUDIES 

46. expert, practised, experienced. 

54. humor, fanciful peculiarity, foible. 

b. 17. curiously, with elaborate care. 
21. would, should. 

25. flashy, tasteless. 
29. confer, converse. 

35. moral grave, studies in moral philosophy 
make men serious and dignified. 

38. stand, drawback, hindrance. 

42. stone and reins, bladder and kidneys. 

52. beat over matters, take a broad general view 
of many things. 

56. receipt, prescribed remedy. 

BROWNE: RELIGIO MEDICI 

200. a. 6. general scandal of my profession. Ac- 
cording to the old saying, ' Where there are three 
physicians, there are two atheists.' 

b. 12. nothing but the name. 'Protestant, as 
carrying with it an insinuation of enmity and dis- 
cord, inconsistent with the peace and harmony pre- 
scribed by the gospel.' 
25. the person. Luther. 

201. a. 3. shaken hands with, parted from. 

4. desperate resolutions. These words, with the 
dependent relative clauses up to what they have 
been, refer to the Roman Catholua. 

6. bottom, ship. 



NOTES 



8. all (doctrines). 

II. in diameter, in diametrical opposition. 

13. improperations, taunts, reproaches. 

15. difference, show the difference of. 

20. am not scrupulous, do not hesitate. 

22. in defect of ours, where ours do not exist. 

44. morosity, moroseness. 

49. violate, injure. 

b. 12. consorts, companions. 
15. questionless, unquestionably. 

34. mediocrity, moderation. 

46. difference myself, distinguish my opinions. 

202. a. 7. humor, mood. 

10. disproving, disapproving. 

11. disavoitched, disavowed. 

12. Council of Trent. See 192. b. 5, note. 

13. Dorl. In the Netherlands, where a great 
Protestant Synod was held in 1618-19. 

18. Geneva. The center of Protestantism on the 
European Continent. 
20. scandal, objection. 

28. the state of Venice had a dispute with Pope 
Paul V in 1606. 

41. reaction, recrimination. 

b. 28. CEdipus solved the riddle of the Sphinx. 

203. o. 10. Diogenes, the Cynic, a Greek philos- 
opher (412-323 B. C). Timcn, of Athens, a fa- 
mous misanthrope, contemporary with Socrates. 

22. pia mater, a membrane enveloping the brain. 

23. impossibilities, apparent impossibilities, diffi- 
culties calling for the exercise of faith. 

29. altitude. A height beyond human compre- 
hension. 

35. Tertullian of Carthage, one of the fathers of 
the Church (2nd and 3rd centuries). 

b. 18. expensed, spread out. 

23. admire, wonder at. 

' 27. the other (people), i.e., the Israelites. 

204. a. 37. the chaos, i.e., before the Creation. 
b. 24. away with, put up with. 

51. temper, constitution. 

52. crows and daws, proverbially long-lived birds. 

205. o. 1. revolution of Saturn. The year of 
Saturn is 10,759 days, 

10. canicular days, dog days. Latin, dies cani- 
culares, the hottest days of summer, ascribed in 
ancient astrology to the malignant influence of the 
dog star. 

13. pantalones and antics, pantaloons and clowns. 

28. Methuselah lived 969 years. See Genesis v, 
27. 

29. rectify, straighten, improve. 

30. incurvate, deteriorate. 

55. Cicero says in his treatise On Old Age: I 
am not sorry to have lived: since I have so lived 
that I do not think I was born in vain. 

b. 10. Mson, an old man in classical mythol- 
ogy whom Medea restored to youth by a magical 
bath. 

13. providence, fores ght. 

15. able temper, sound constitution. 

J 6. radical humor, vital juice. 

24. glome or bottom, a ball of thread. 

206. a. 32. climate, a space measured on the earth s 
sitriace; England was in the eighth. 



55. Hydra, a many-headed monster slain by 
Hercules. 

58. Solomon. See Proverbs i, 7, 22, &c. 

b. 15. Doradoes, rich men; literally gold-fishes. 

18. politicians, statesmen. 
54. as the world (is one). 

207. a. 2. buffet, box. 

3. at sharp, with pointed weapons. 

5. Lepanto, a battle between the Italians and 
Turks, 1571. 

10. dastards, intimidates. 

28. epidemical, common to all people. 

b. 1. the world, the macrocosm which man, 
the microcosm, resembles. 

21. grammarian, student of Latin grammar. 

23. construction, construing. 

30. Babel. See Genesis xi, 1—9. 

35. chorography, description of countries. 
46. pointers, the Dipper. 

S3, simpled, collected simples, or herbs. Cheap- 
side, a famous Londoq herb market. 

208. a. 9. Euripus, a strait dividing Attica from 
Euboea, where the tide, according to classical tra- 
dition, ebbed and flowed seven times a day. The 
story that Aristotle drowned himself there because 
he could not discover the cause of the phenomenon 
is discussed by IJrowne, along with the fable as to 
the death of Homer because he could not guess the 
fisherman's riddle, in Pseudodoxia epidemica, Bk. 
VII, ch. 13. 

16. Peripatetics, Stoics, Academics. Classical 
schools of philosophy. 

19. Janus, facing both ways. 
33. attending, waiting. 

35. which (knowledge). 

43. glorification (in heaven). 

46. disallow, disapprove. 

b. 9. music of the spheres. The ancients had 
a fancy that the rotation of the planets produced 
music; this kept its place in poetry after it had 
been denied by the astronomers. See Merchant of 
Venice, V. i, 60—62. 

24. first composer. God. 

48. ephemerides, astrological tables. 

HYDRIOTAPIIIA, URiSiBURIAL 

209. b. I. ossuaries, receptacles for bones. In this 
essay Browne discourses about some urns contain- 
ing bones, dug up in Norfolk and supposed to be 
of Roman origin. 

10. tutelary observaiors, guardian spirits of the 
place. 

15. pyramidally, by means of a tombstone. 

25. Atropos, the Greek Fate who cut the thread 
of human life. 

31. meridian, the noon of the world's lifetime. 
39. Charles V (1500-1558), Emperor of Germany. 

47. Janus, facing past and future. 

210. a. 25. Gruter, Dutch philologist (1560—1627) 
35. Cardan, a celebrated Italian (1501 — 1576). 

38. Hippocrates, famous Greek physician (460-357 
B. C). 

42. entelechia, actual being, a term in the phi- 
losophy of Aristotle. 



NOTES 



xci 



45. Canaanitish zvoman. See Matthew x, 4. 
Mark iii, 18. 

46. Herodias. See Matthew xiv, i— 12. 
48. good thief. See Luke xxiii, 39-43. 

b. I. Herostratus — Diana. At Ephesus 356 
B.C. 

4. Adrian (76—138 A. D.), Emperor of Rome. 

8. Thersites, the foul-mouthed rogue of Homer's 
Iliad, in which Agamemnon is one of the heroes. 

23. the first story. See Genesis, v. 

24. one living century, a hundred people still re- 
membered. 

31. Lucina, the goddess of childbirth. 

211. a. 23. Cambyses, king of Persia and conqueror 
of Egypt, d. 521 B. C. 

25. Mizraim, the brother of Cush, is the Hebrew 
name of Egypt. 

26. Pharaoh, the name of many kings of ancient 
Egypt. In Browne's time Egyptian mummies were 
used for medical prescriptions. 

36. Nimrod, the founder of the Babylonian Em- 
pire. See Genesis x, 8—12. In Hebrew astronomy 
he corresponds to the Greek constellation Orion. 

27. Osiris, an Egj'ptian deity. 
42. perspectives, telescopes. 

b. 12. scape, a momentary chance. 

23. Sardanapalus, the last Assyrian king of 
Nineveh, unable to withstand a siege there, burnt 
himself and his household on a huge funeral pile 
876 B. C. 

30. Gordianus. Emperor of Rome, third century. 
The Man of God. Moses. See Deuteronomy 
xxxiv, 1—6. 

34. Enoch. See Genesis v, 24. 

35. Elias, Elijah. See 2 Kings ii, i— 11. 
48. Losarus. See John xi. 

50. die but once. See Revelations xxi, 8. 

53. coverings of mouniains. See Revelations vi, 
15-17- 

WALTON: THE COMPLETE ANGLER 

This chapter is in the form of an open-air dia- 
logue between the Angler (Piscator), who represents 
the author, and the Hunter, who is his pupil. The 
Angler continues the discourse he had begun in 
Chapter III, on the chub. 

212. a. 12. generous, originally high born, and 
hence full of spirit, rich and full of strength, in- 
vigorating. 

16. Gesner, a Swiss physician and naturalist who 
wrote a book On Animals (1551-8). 

17. offspring, origin; there is little doubt, how- 
ever, that the word trout comes through the Latin 
trutta from the Greek toukttjs. 

41. three cubits, 4>^ feet. The trout of the Great 
American Lakes is sometimes even larger. 

b. 2. Mercator, a Flemish scientist who died 
in 1594. 

25. Fordidge trout are salmon trout and live in 
the ordinary way: so do grasshoppers. Walton's 
aspersions on the mother raven are groundless. 

213. a. 44. Michaelmas, September 29. 

51. Albertus, Magnus (i 193-1280), a German 



Dominican monk, who wrote more than twenty vol- 
umes on natural philosophy. 

215. a. 2. the best. Men were readier at sharing a 
bed in those days, 

4. catch, a short part-song for three or more 
voices. 

b. 34. verjuice, acid of the crab-apple, or other 
fruits. 

S3. Troy Town, a ballad about Dido and yEneas. 

216. b. 2. Overbury 's — zvish. In the ' characters * 
subjoined to The Wife (1604). 

17. Philomel, the nightingale. 

Walton found both these songs in England's Heli- 
con (1600). The first is ascribed with some cer- 
tainty to Christopher Marlowe, the second, more 
doubtfully, to Sir Walter Raleigh. 

FULLER: LIFE OF SIR FRANCIS DRAKE 

217. a. 10. Six Articles of Faith, which Henry 
VIII required the clergy to sign. 

218. a. 44. cliapmen, merchants, i.e., adventurers. 
55. admire, wonder. 

b. 12. Cabo-verd, Cape Verde. 
57. Portugals, Portuguese. 

219. a, 30. caudle, a warm drink, consisting of 
weak gruel, mixed with ale or wine, sweetened and 
spiced. 

47. ctirious, careful. 

b. 12. half moon, the power of Spain, which 
was broken by the destruction of the Armada in 
1588. 

28. caraval of adviso, a messenger-ship. 

37. vent, outlet, i.e., publicity. 

220. b. 49. fresh water to Plymouth. It is indeed 
one of the striking instances of Drake's public-spir- 
ited enterprise that in the intervals of adventure he 
devised a municipal water supply. 

TAYLOR: THE PATIENCE OF THE SAINTS 

221. a. 26. my text. ' For the time is come that 
judgment must begin at the house of God: and if 
it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them 
that obey not the Gospel of God? And if the 
righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the un- 
godly and the sinner appear?' — i Peter iv, 17, 18. 

b. 2. Dives, the rich man of Luke xvi, 19- 
31- 

222. a. 26. renegadoes, renegades, those who have 
denied the true fraith. 

b. 15. rainbow . . . grace. See Genesis 
ix, 13-17. 

31. consequent, consequence. 

223. b. 3. green tree . . . dry. See Luke, 
xxiii 31. This is a good example of the way in 
which Taylor's whole phraseology is colored by 
reminiscences of Scripture. 

BUNYAN: PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 

227. b. 29. going, walking. 

228. a. 43. fact, deed. 

231. b. 51. conversation, manner of life. 

232. a. 7. tenderness in, sensitiveness about, scru- 
pulous care against. 




MILTON: ON SIIAKSPERE 

Printed among the commendatory verses pr 
fixed to the Shakspere folio of 1632. 

236. 4. star-ypointing, pointing to the stars; not a 
correctly formed word, y being properly a prefix for 
the past participle only. 

1 1, unvalued, invaluable. 

237. 12. Depliic, oracular. The oracle of Apollo 

. was at Delphi. <,: 1 

P ^''/ 

|^\ O, L'ALLEGRO ,,,. 

\ J) !N.Published 1645; written probably at Horton about 

' -^^ if jfefi ^ Ccrhnrux. the three-headed monstrous dog 
tJS .^^?^^ich guarded the classic hell. 
•«r i^L^ 3. Stygian, belonging to the Styx, i.e., infernal. 
V^ S. uncouth, unknown, hence strange, monstrous. 
j» \/ 8. ebon, black. 

Ifcfe. 10. Cimmerian desert, according to Homer, a land 

S^ f »f perpetual darkness ' beyond the ocean-stream.' 
jf 12. yclept, called. Euphrosyne, Mirth, one of 

the three Graces of classical mythology. 

19. Zephyr, the West Wind. Aurora, the Dawn. 
29. Hebe, goddess of Youth, Jove's cupbearer. 
62. dight, decked. 

67. tells his tale, counts his sheep. 
80. cynosure, center of attraction; in Greek the 
name of the constellation containing the pole-star. 

R,-;. Corydon, Thyrsis, Thcstylis, Phillis, conven- 
tional names in pastoral poetry. 
94. rebecks, fiddles. 

238. 102. fairy Mab. See Romeo and Juliet, I, iv, 

53-95- 

103. she — he, members of the group of story- 
tellers. 

104. friar's lantern, will o' the wisp. 

105. drudging goblin, Kobin Goodfellow, the Tuck 
of Midsummer Night's Dream, a mischievous but 
helpful fairy. 

no. lubber, clumsy, awkward. 

120. weeds, garments. 

122. rain influence, like the stars. 

125. Hymen, the god of marriage. 

132. sock, Latin soccus, the low-heeled shoe worn 
in classical comedy. For tragedy the buskin was 
used. 

136. Lydian, the softest and sweetest kind of 
Greek music. 

139. bout, turn. 

145. Orpheus with his music won Pluto to re- 
lease his wife Eurydice from hell on condition that 
he did not look back to see if she were following 
him to the upper world: he could not withstand the 
temptation, and she was lost. 

147. elysian, heavenly. 

IL PENSEROSO 

A companion poem to the foregoing, written and 
printed with it. 

3. bested, avail, profit. 

10. Morpheus, god of dreams. 

18. Memnon, a handsome Ethiopian prince who 
fought in the Trojan war. 




^^ 



19. starred Etltiop Queen, Cassiopc, changed into 
pthe constellation Cassiopoeia. 

23. Vcsia, goddess of the fireside. 
Saturn, father of Jupiter. 
Ida, a mountain near Troy. 
£g.\coinmcrcing, having commerce or intercourse 
With. 

56. Philomel, the nightingale. 
59. Cynthia, the moon. 

239. 74. curfeiv, the evening bell. 

87. Bear, the Great. Bear which never sets in the 
latitude of Great Britain. To outwatcli the Bear is 
therefore to stay awake till all the stars have faded 
in the light of day. 

88. Hermes, an ancient Egyptian philosopher. 
95. consent, sympathy. 

99. Thebes— Troy, subjects of classical tragedy. 
102. buskined, tragic. See 238. 132, note. 
109. him that left half told, Chaucer in the 
Squire's Tale. 

113. virtuous, magical. 

124. Attic boy. Cephalus, beloved of Aurora. 

134. Sylvan, the god of woods. 

148. his, of sleep. 

154. genius, guardian spirit. 

156. pale, enclosure. 

159. storied, adorned with stories from Scripture 

170. spell, read slowly. 

LYCIDAS 

The purpose of the poem is best explained itl 
Milton's own words: — 'In this monody the au- 
thor bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drowned 
in his passage from Chester on the Irish seas, 1637, 
and by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted 
clergy, then in their height.' Milton's friend was 
Edward King, of Christ's College, Cambridge. 
Lycidas was written in 1637 and published along 
with other elegies in a memorial volume for King 
in 163S. 

240. 8. Lycidas, a name used in the Seventh Idyll 
of Theocritus, the founder of pastoral poetry, ere 
his prime. King was 25. 

15. sacred ivell, the fountain of the Muses on 
Mount Helicon. 

27. drove (our flocks). 

29. battening, fattening. 

36. Dama:tas, a conventional name in pastoral 
poetry. Possibly Milton's college tutor is meant. 
Both Milton and King wrote Latin verse of merit. 

46. zveanling, weaned. 

52-55. The Welsh hills, Mona (Anglesea), and 
the River Dee bound the Irish sea on the east. 

59. the Muse, Calliope, mother of Orpheus; he 
was torn to pieces by Thracian women, and hirt 
head floated down the river Hebrus to Lesbos. 

64. boots, profits. 

68. Amaryllis, Neara, maidens of classical pas- 
toral. 

75. blind Fury. More properly the Fate Atropos, 
who cuts the thread of human life. 

yj. Pha'bus. Apollo, the god of poetry. 

79. glistering foil, glittering tinsel. 



NOTES 



XC11I 



241. 82. Jove, God. 

85. Arethuse, Minciiis, rivers of Greek and Latin 
pastoral poetry. 

88. oat, ofeten pipe. 

91. felon, criminal, cruel. 

95. his, of Lycidas. Hippotades, iEolus, who 
controlled the winds. 

99. Panope, a nymph, one of the fifty daughters 
of Nereus, 

100. fatal, fated to destruction, perfidious, treach- 
erous, unworthy of trust. 

loi. the eclipse, a time of evil omen. 
103. Camus, the river at Cambridge personified is 
a god. footing slow. The Cam flows gently. 

106. sanguine flower, the hyacinth which the an- 
cients held to be marked ' Ai, Ai,' in lamentation 
for Hyacinthus. 

107. reft, bereaved me of. 

109. pilot of the Galilean lake, St. Peter. 

no. keys. See Matthew xvi, 19. 

112. mitered. St. Peter was the first bishop of 
Rome. The miter is the official headdress of a Ro- 
man bishop. 

114. Enozv, enough, 

120. sheep-hook. Milton has now turned from the 
shepherd as poet to the shepherd as pastor, 

122. recks, concerns, sped, provided for. 

123. flashy. See 199. b. 25, note. 

124. scrannel, screeching. 

130. two-handed engine, the axe. 

132. Alphcus, a classical river, lover of Arethusa. 

133. Sicilian Muse, Theocritus. Milton is return- 
ing to the more conventional tone of pastoral poetry. 

138. swart star, the dog-star, which was supposed 
to blast vegetation. 

142. rathe, early, forsaken, unsought for, or per- 
haps there is an allusion to an old myth of the woo- 
ing of certain flowers by the sun. See Shakspere's 
Winter's Tale, IV, iv, 122—5, 

144, freaked, freckled, sprinkled, 

149. amaranthus, emblem of immortality. 

151. laureate, adorned with the poet's laurel. 
hearse, a platform adorned with black hangings and 
containing an effigy of the deceased. 

152. so, by imagining that the body of Lycidas 
has been recovered. 

242. 156. Hebrides, islands to the far north of. Scot- 
land. 

160. Bellerus, Land's End, the most western 
point of England, was anciently called Bellerium. 
Near it is St. Michael's Mount, a rocky island with 
a fortress on top and a craggy seat from which vis- 
ions of St. Michael were seen, 

162. Namancos, in Spain, near Cape Finisterre 
and the Castle of Bayona. 

163. ruth, pity. 

169. anon, immediately, repairs, refreshes. 

170. tricks, sets in order, adorns, ore, brightness. 
173. Through — waves. See Matthew xiv, 22—3. 
176. unexpressive, inexpressible. 

183. genius, protecting deity, guardian angel. 
186. uncouth, unknown, uncultivated. 

188, quills, reeds. 

189. Doric, pastoral, rude, as of a shepherd. 

193. A forecast of the very different occupations 
of the poet during the next few years. 



SONNETS 

WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE 
CITY 

Written Nov., 1642; pub. 164S. 

10. Emathian conqueror. Alexander of Mace- 
don, when he sacked Thebes in 333 B. C, spared 
the house of the poet Pindar, who died almost a 
century before. 

X2- Electro, one of the tragedies of Euripides, the 
recital of whose verses are said to have saved the 
walls of Athens from destruction after the capture 
of the city by Lysander the Spartan in 404 B. C. 

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY 
2. the broad way. See Matthew vii, 13. 

5. Mary . . . Ruth. See Luke x, 42; Ruth 
i, 14-17. 

12, the Bridegroom. See Matthew xxv, 1-13. 

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON 
MY WRITING CER;TAIN TREATISES 

I. Tetrachordon, one of Milton's pamphlets in fa- 
vor of divorce, the full title being Tetrachordon: 
Expositions upon the four chief places of Scripture 
which treat of marriage. 

243. 7-8. Mile-End Green, in Milton's time, one 
of the London suburbs. 

8-9. Gordon . . . Galasp, names of Scottish, 
generals during the war of 1644—5, soon after which 
apparently this sonnet was wi-itten. This and the 
following sonnet /were not included in the edition of 
1645; they first appeared in 1673. 

10. our like, like ours. 

II. Quintilian, the great Latin writer on literary 
style. 

12. Sir John Cheke (1514—1557), first professor 
of Greek at Cambridge and tutor of Edward VI. 

ON THE SAME 

6. Latona's twin-born progeny, Apollo and Diana. 

TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652 
The Puritan Parliament had a committee for 
propagation of the gospel, to which proposals were 
submitted by certain ministers that the Puritan 
preachers should be maintained at the public ex- 
pense. Milton was a strong believer in the volun- 
tary system, and objected to any interference of the 
government with religious matters. 

7. Darwen stream, in Lancashire, the scene of 
Cromwell's victory over the Scots, Aug. 17—19, 1648. 

8. Dunbar field, another victory, Sept. 30, 1650. 

9. Worcester's laureate zvreath. Cromwell was ac- 
customed to speak of his success at Worcester 
(Sept. 3, 1651) as the 'crowning mercy' of God. 

11. new foes, a section of the Independents who 
proposed to accept state aid, as Milton's old foes, 
the Anglicans and Presbyterians, wished to do. 

12. secular chains, government control, 

14. maw, stomach. Compare Lycidas, II. 114—125, 
p. 241, 

ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 
The Protestants of Piedmont were in 1655 sub- 
jected to a cruel persecution by the Court of Turin, 



XCIV 



NOTES 



whose soldiery evicted them from their homes with 
extraordinary ferocity. The English government, 
through Milton, who was then Latin secretary, sent 
a solemn protest against the massacre to the Duke 
of Savoy. The sonnet expresses Milton's personal 
feeling. 

7-8. The English agent in Piedmont narrated the 
following incident: ' A mother was hurled down 
a mighty rock with a little infant in her arms; and 
three days after was found dead with the child 
qlive, but fast clasped between the arms of the 
mother, which were cold and stiff, insomuch that 
those that found them had much ado to get the child 
out.' 

12. The triple Tyrant, the Pope, from his wear- 
ing a triple tiara. 

14. Babylonian -woe. The Puritans identified 
Rome with the Babylon of Revelation and of i Peter 
y, 13. 

ON HIS BLINDNESS 
Milton became completely blind about 1653: this 
sonnet was probably written not long after. 

ON HIS DECEASED WIFE 

244. I. late espoused saint. Catherine Woodcock, 
Milton's second wife, died in childbirth, in Febru- 
ary, 165S, fifteen months after their marriage. 

2. like Alcestis. According to the classical myth, 
Alcestis, who gave her life to save her husband, 
was rescued from death by Hercules. 

6. tlie old laiv. Leviticus xii. 

10. her face was veiled. Although Milton was de- 
votedly attached to his wife, probably he had never 
Been her. See above as to his blindness. 

PARADISE LOST, BOOK I 

2. forbidden tree. See Genesis iii. 
4. one greater Man. The Messiah. See Romans, 
V, 19. 

7. Sinai, the lower part of the mountain range 
of Horeb, where God appeared to Moses. See Ex- 
odus iii and xix, 

8. first tauglit. In Genesis i. 

12. fast, close, oracle, the temple at Jerusalem. 

15. Aonian mount, Helicon in Boeotia, the seat of 
the Greek muses, pursues, treats of — a classical 
usage. 

19—22. See Genesis i, 2. 

21. Dove-like. See Luke iii, 22. 

2$. assert, vindicate. 

245. 29. grand, first. 

32. For, because of; or (perhaps) but for. 

36. what time, when; a Latin construction. 

39. peers, equals. Latin pares. 

45-6. See Luke x, 18. 

48. See 2 Peter ii, 4. 

58. obdurate. Accent on second syllable. 

66—7. Reminiscent of Euripides and Dante. 

73—4. Milton's ideas of cosmography were founded 
on the Ptolemaic system, and are illustrated in the 
accompanying figures. Fig. i represents the Uni- 
verse before the fall, and Fig. 2 after the fall of 
the Angels. Fig. 3 shows the stellar world, hang- 
ing by a golden chain from the floor of heaven. 



At the center of this is the earth, and around it 
the planets revolve in their several spheres, en- 
closed by the primum mobile. The distance from 
heaven to hell is three times the radius of the stellaf 
universe. 



Fig. I — Before the fall of the Angels 




Fig. 2 — After the fall of the Angels 



Fig. 3 — After the creation of the World 



81. Beelzebub, the sun-god of the Philistines. 

82. Satan ' the adversary.' 
84. See Isaiah xiv, 12. 

246. 314. Doubted, feared for. 

120. successful hope, hope of success. 
130. conduct, command. 
148. suffice, satisfy. 

167. if I fail not, if I am not mistaken. Latin 
construction. 

172. laid (to rest). 

178. slip, let slip. 

187. offend, harm. Latin offendere. 

247. 193. uplift, uplifted. 
197. zvhom, those whom. 

197—200. fables, of classical mythology, according 
to which the Titans rebelled against their father 
Uranus, as the Giants did later against Zeus or 
Jove. Briareos was a Titan, Typhon a Giant. The 
latter is described by the Greek poets living in a 
' Cilician den.' Tarsus is the capital of Cilicia. 

201. Leviathan, a Hebrew word meaning any huge 
monster. The translators of the Bible identified it 
with the whale, as Milton does here. 

204. night-foundered, overtaken and enveloped by 
night. 

226. incumbent on,, lying on, supported by. 



NOTES 



xcv 



232-3. Pelorus, N. E. promontory of Sicily near 
Mt. Etna. 

244. change for, take in exchange for. 

257. all but, only. 

266. astonished, astounded, thunderstruck. Ob- 
livious, making forgetful. 

268. mansion, abiding place. 

248. 281, amazed, confounded. 

282. pernicious, destructive, dreadful. 

288. optic glass, the telescope, developed by the 
Florentine astronomer Galileo, whom Milton saw 
during his Italian tour (1638-9). 

289—290. Fesole, Valdarno, near Florence. 

296. marl, soil. 

299. Nathles, nevertheless. 

303. Vallombrosa, eighteen miles from Florence 
in Tuscany, anciently named Etruria. 

305. Orion armed. The rising and setting of the 
constellation Orion the Hunter were traditionally 
attended with storms. 

306. Red Sea, called by the Hebrews the Sea of 
Sedge, on account of the quantity of seaweed in it. 

307. Busiris, Pharaoh. See Exodus xiv, 5—29. 
Memphian, Egyptian. 

309. Goshen. See Genesis xlvii, 27. 

313. Under amazement of, utterly confounded by. 

317. If, dependent on lost. 

320. virtue, valor. Latin virtus. 

33S. not perceive, failed to perceive. 

338—343. See Exodus x, 12—15. 

339. Amram's son, Aaron. See Exodus vi, 20. 

341. warping, advancing with an undulating mo- 
tion. 

351—5. The northern tribes which invaded the 
Roman empire from the third century onwards 
crossed from Spiain into Africa and captured 
Carthage 439 A. D. 

355. beneath, south of. 

249. 360. erst, formerly. 

363. books. Milton probably dictated ' Book ' and 
was misunderstood by his amanuensis. See Revela- 
tions iii, 5. 

372. religions, religious ceremonies. 

392. Moloch. See i Kings xi, 7; 2 Kings xxiii, 
10; Psalm cvi, Z7, 38- Sandys, whose book of trav- 
els in Palestine was known to Milton, describes the 
idol as ' hollow within, filled with fire,' the children 
offered for sacrifice being placed in his arms. ' And 
lest their lamentable shrieks should sadden the 
hearts of their parents, the priests of Moloch did 
deafen their ears with the continual clang of trum- 
pets and timbrels.' 

397. Rabba, capital of Ammon, ' the city of 
waters.' 

398-9. Argob, Basan, Arnon, east of the river 
Jordan. 

401. Solomon, See i Kings xi, 5-7; 2 Kings 
xxiii, 13. 

403. opprobrious hill. The Mount of Olives, 
where Solomon established the worship of Moloch, 
was later called the ' Mount of Corruption ' and 
' Mount of Offence.' 

404. Hinnom, south of Olivet. 

405. Gehenna, the Greek form of the Hebrew 
Ge Hinnom, valley of Hinnom. 



406. Chemos, the god of Moab, the neighbors of 
Ammon. 

409. Seon, king of the Amorites. See Numbers 
xxi, 26. 

410. Sibma. See Isaiah xvi, 8. 

411. the asphaltic pool, the Dead Sea. 
413. Sittim. See Numbers xxv. 
416. scandal, offence. 

418. good Josiah. See Kings xxiii, 10, 

420. the brook, Besor, ' the river of Egypt.' 

422. Baiilim and Ashtaroth, the collective names 
of the various manifestations of the deities of the 
sun and moon respectively. 

438. Astoreth, the same as the Assyrian Istar, 
the Greek Aphrodite, and the Latin Venus. 

441. Sidon was the oldest city of Phenicia. 
250. 444. uxorious king, Solomon. 

446. Thammus, ' Sun of Life,' the Greek Adonis, 
god of the solar year. 

450. Adonis, the name of a river flowing from the 
heights of Lebanon, and colored in spring by the 
red mud gathered there. 

455. Ezekiel. See Ezekiel viii, 14. 

457. came one. Dagon, god of the Philistines. 
See I Samuel v, 4. 

460. grunsel, threshold. 

464-6. Asotus . , . Gasar, the five clief 
cities of the Philistines. 

467. Rimmon, god of Damascus. 

471. leper, Naaman. See 2 Kings v. 

472. Alias. See 2 Kings xvi. sottish, foolish. 

478. Osiris, Isis, Orus, Egyptian deities, wor- 
shipped under the shape of the bull, cow, and sun. 

479. abused, deceived. 

483. borrozved, from the Egyptians. See Exodus 
xii, 35-6. 

484. calf in Oreb. See Exodus xxxii. rebel 
king, Jeroboam, i Kings xii, 20, 28, 29. 

487. he, Israel. See Exodus xii. 

495. Eli's sons. See i Samuel ii, 12—17. 

498. luxurious, lustful. 

502. floivn, flushed. 

503—4. Sodom, Gibeah. Genesis xix. Judges xix. 

506. prime, leaders. 

508. Ionian, Greek. Javan, son of Japhet. Gen- 
esis X, 2. 

509. Heaven and Earth, Uranus and Ge, whose 12 
giant children were Titans. One of them, Cronos 
(Saturn in Roman mythology), deposed Uranus, 
and was in turn deposed by his own son Zeus 
(Jove), whose mother was Rhea. 

515-6. Ida in Crete was the birthplace of Zeus, 
Olympus, north of Thessaly, his abode, according to 
Greek mythology. 

517. Delphian cliff, Apollo's oracle on Mt. Par- 
nassus. 

518. Dodona, an oracle of Zeus, in Epirus. 

519. Doric, Greek. 

520. Adria, the Adriatic. Hesperian, western, i.e., 
Italy. 

521. Celtic, France and Spain, utmost isles, of 
Britain. 

523. damp, depressed. 

528. recollecting, recovering. 



XCVl 



NOTES 



251. 534. Azasel. Leviticus xvi, 8. 
536. advanced, raised. 
538. emblazeU, emblazoned. 

546. orient, bright. 

547. helms, helmets. 

548. serried, locked together. 

550. Dorian mood, the kind of Greek music 
adapted to military exercises. 

551. recorder, a kind of flute. 
556. 'suage, assuage. 

563. horrid, bristling with spears. Latin hor- 
ridus. 

568. traverse, across. 

573. since created man, after the creation of man. 

574. embodied, assembled in a body, named, 
compared. 

575. small infantry, the Pygmies. Homer's Iliad 

iii, 5. 

577. Phlegra, in Macedonia where the Gods de- 
feated the Giants. See 1. 509. 

578. Thebes and Ilium, the chief battle grounds 
of Greek tradition. 

580. fable, Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of 
the Britons, romance, Malory's Morte D'Arthur. 

581. Armoric, Breton. 

583-6. The references are to scenes famous in 
medieval romances. 

586. peerage, the twelve peers of the Chanson de 
Roland. 

588. observed, obeyed. 

596-9. Curiously enough, this was the only 
passage in the poem objected to by the official Li- 
censer for the Press (chaplain to the Archbishop of 
Canterbury), when the book was first printed. 
Either he did not like the suggestion of a ' change ' 
of government, or he would not admit that Charles 
II could be ' perplexed ' even by an eclipse. 

597. disastrous, threatening disaster. 

603. considerate, thoughtful, reflective. 

605. remorse and passion, pity and suffering. 

609. amerced, condemned to loss. 

613. scathed, injured. 

252. 615. blasted, withered. 
624. event, outcome. 

63a. exile. Accent on second syllable. 
646. wrk, accomplish. 
656. eruption, expedition, sortie. 
662. understood, agreed on secretly, 
670. grisly, horrible. 
675. brigade. Pronounce brigad. 
678. Mammon, riches (Syriac). See Matthew vi, 
24. 

686. ransacked the center, dug into the earth. 
690. ribs, bars, admire, wonder. 

253. 694. Babel. See Genesis xi, 1-9. Memphian, 
Egyptian, i.e., the Pyramids. 

703. founded, melted. 

704. severing, separating. 

713. pilasters, pillars set in a wall and lightly 
projecting from it. overlaid, surmounted. 

715. architrave, the main beam. 

716. cornice, frieze, adornments of the architrave. 
bossy, in relief, projecting. 

717. fretted, worked in designs. 



720. Bclus, the Assyrian god Bel or Baal. 
Serapis, an Egyptian deity. 
728. cresset, an iron lantern. 

738. his name, Hephaistos or Vulcan. 

739. Ausonian land, Italy. 

740. Mulciber, the welder of metals. 

746. Lemnos, sacred to Hephaistos. The story of 
his fall is told in Homer's Iliad i, 591. 
750. engines, machines, contrivances. 
756. Pandemonium, the place of all the demons. 

764. wont, were wont to. soldan, sultan. 

765. paynim, pagan. 

769. The sun is in Taurus (one of the signs of 
the zodiac) April 19-May 20. 

254. 774. expatiate, walk abroad. Latin use. con- 
fer, discuss. 

780-1. Pliny placed the Pygmies beyond the 
source of the Ganges. 

781—5. Reminiscent of A Midsummer Night's 
Dream and the Mneid. 

785. arbitress, witness. The moon was supposed 
to be influenced by fairy incantations, 

795. recess, retirement. conclave, the name 
given to a meeting of Cardinals in the Roman 
Church. 

797. frequent, crowded. Latin use. 

798. consult, consultation. 

BOOK II 

2. Ormus, Persia, 

9. success, result, experience. 

16. from no fall, if they had not fallen,, 

27. whom, him whom. 

29, Your buhvark, as your defense, 

50, recked, cared, 

255. 52. unexpert, inexperienced, 

59. of, imposed by, 

60. By, in consequetice of. 

63, our tortures, what tortures us. 

69, Tartarean, infernal. 

■J2. such, those who think so. 

74. forgetful, making forgetful. 

75. proper, natural. 

77. who but felt, who did not feel? 

82. event, outcome. 

83. stronger, superior in strength. 

89. exercise, harass, torment. Latin usage, 

97, essential, substance, 

100. at ivorst, as badly off as we can be short of 
annihilation. 

loi. proof, experience. 

104. fatal, established by fate. 

106. denounced, betokened, threatened. 

113. manna. See Exodus xvi, 31. 

124. fact, deed. 

127, scope, mark, aim, its original meaning in the 
Greek, 

130. watch, watchmen; hence the plural verb. 

132. obscure. Accent on first syllable. 

133. Scout, act as scouts, rcconnoiter. 

256. 139. mold, substance. Milton imagines the 
angels as made of fire (see Psalm civ, 4) and the 
argument is that the fiery substance of the angels 
would expel the baser fire of hell. 



NOTES 



XCVll 



143. flat, absolute. 

156. Belike, probably. Used ironically, impo- 
tence, lack of self-restraint. Latin use. 
165. amain, with all speed. 

175. Her, of hell. 

176. cataracts, torrents, floods. 
203. fall, befall, happen. 

210. supreme. Accent on first syllable. 
2i6. inured, accustomed to it. 

257. 224. For happy, in point of happiness. 
231—2. then — ivhen, i.e., never. 

234. former, ' to disenthrone.' argues, proves. 

235. latter, ' to regain.' 

245. Ambrosial, divinely excellent. 

249. pursue, seek to regain. 

251. unacceptable. Accent on second syllable. 

263—5. See Psalms xvii, 11, 13; xcvii, 2. 

2yy. needs, of necessity. 

278. sensible, sense; adj. for noun. 

281. Compose, arrange, adjust. 

288. o'er watched, worn out with watching. 

294. Michael, the leading archangel, whose dis- 
comfiture of Satan and his followers is described 
later: vi, 320—327. 

258. 301. aspect. Accent on second syllable. 
303. public care, care for the common weal. 

305. Majestic qualifies face. 

306. Atlantean, worthy of Atlas, a Titan con- 
demned by Zeus to bear the skies on his shoulders. 

324. first and last. See Revelation i, 11. 
330. determined, made an end of. 

336. to, to the extent of. 

337. Untamed reluctance, invincible resistance. 
341. want, be wanting. 

346. fame, report. Latin faina, 

367. puny, literally, later born; hence, weaker. 

375. original, origin, or perhaps originator. 

376. Advise, consider. 

380. By Satan. See I, 650-654. 

259. 382. confound, utterly destroy. 

387. states, authorities, or bodies of representa- 
tives, as in the phrase, ' the three estates of the 
realm,' meaning the King, Lords, and Commons in 
Great Britain. 

391. Synod, assembly, meeting. 

404. tempt, try. 

406. obscure, obscurity. Adj. for noun. 

407. uncouth, unknown. 

409- abrupt, abyss, i.e., between hell and the 
world, arrive, reach. 

410. isle, the World, hung like a globe in Chaos 
from the floor of Heaven. 

413. had need, would have need of. 

415. Choice, careful selection. 

418. suspense, in suspense. Latin form. 

423. Astonished, astounded. 

425. hardy, bold, courageous. 

429. unmoved. Contrasted with Astonished, 1. 
424. 

431. demur, hesitation. 

434. convex, circle. 

441. abortive, monstrous. 

443. remains, awaits. 

452. Refusing, if I refuse. 

457. intend, consider, devise. 

461. deceive, beguile. Latin use. slack, mitigate. 



462. mansion, abode. 

467. prevented, forestalled. 

46S. raised, encouraged. Refers to Others. 
260. 470. erst, before. 

471. opinion, reputation. 

478. awful, full of awe. 

485. close, concealed, varnished o'er, speciously 
covered with. 

490. louring element, dark and threatening sky. 

491. Scowls, covers the face of nature with a 
dark cloud of rain or snow. 

492. If chance, if it chances that. 
503. accord, agreement. 

AREOPAGITICA 

In November, 1644, when this pamphlet was pub- 
lished, the parliamentary cause was triumphant in 
the field, and high hopes were entertained for its fu- 
ture success in the promotion of ' real and sub- 
stantial liberty — whose existense depends not so 
much on the terror of the sword as on sobriety of 
conduct and integrity of life.' But Parliament was 
already showing an inclination to adopt the intoler- 
ant and tyrannical measures which it had condemned 
in its adversaries, and it was_ag;ainst one of these — 
an order that books should not be printed without 
license — that Milton was here directing his efforts. 
llis_ely-£ct- -Wfls^ to -SeGUPe-4h€- free publication of 
thought, — ' that the power of determining what was 
true and what was false; what ought to be pub- 
lished and what to be suppressed, might no longer 
be entrusted to a few illiterate and illiberal indi- 
viduals, who refused their sanction to any work 
which contained views or sentiments at all above 
the level of the vulgar superstition.' Beside Mil- 
ton's general devotion to the cause of liberty,, he 
had a special incentive in the attempt which was 
being made by the Stationers Company to suppress 
his divorce pamphlets, which had aroused a good 
deal of hostile feeling. 

260. b. 15. Julius Agricola, governor of Britain 78— 
8s A. D. 

16. CcBsar, a general name for the Roman Em- 
peror, preferred — French. This statement is made 
on the authority of Tacitus. 

22, Hercynian, a name given by the Romans to 
the mountainous and wooded region in the south 
and center of Germany; the country beyond it, 
Transylvania, which became part of the Austrian 
Empire in 1689, had during the Commonwealth 
friendly relations with England. 

28. propcnding, inclining. 

31. as out of Sion. See Joel ii, i. 

36. Wyclif, the English ecclesiastical reformer of 
the fourteenth century. 

38. Huss, Jerome (of Prague), Luther, Calvin, 
leaders of the Protestant Reformation on the Con- 
tinent. 

44. demeaned, conducted, managed. 

46. of whom, of those of whom. 

261. a. 2. mansion house, abiding place, manorial 
seat. 

5. plates, armor, instruments, weapons. 

14. trying, testing. 

26. white already. See John iv, 35. 



XCVlll 



NOTES 



31. fantastic, fancied, imaginary. 

38. ill-deputed, i.e., to the clergy. 

56. Pyrrhus, after fighting against the Romans at 
Heraclea (280 B. C.) is said to have exclaimed: 
' How easy it would be for me to conquer the world 
if I had Roman soldiers.' 

b. 10. schisms, dissections, literally, cuttings. 

28. Moses. See Numbers xii, 2g. 

35. Joshua. See Numbers xii, 28. 

46. maniple, a company in the Roman army, con- 
sisting of about 60 men serving under the same en- 
sign. 

52. vex, worry. 

58. besieged. Two years before the publication 
of Milton's pamphlet the Royalists had advanced al- 
most to the gates of London. See Milton's first 
sonnet printed on p. 242. 

262. a. 4. suburb trenches. The suburbs were de- 
fended by trenches made by the loyal citizens, even 
women and children helping. 

10. to a rarity, to an extraordinary extent or de- 
gree. 

12. argues, proves. 

16. derives itself to, develops into. 

20. nigh, closely. The incident here referred to 
IS recounted by Livy xxvi, 11. 

28. to, as to, 

30. pcrtest, sprightliest, 

34. sprightly up, lively and excited. 

41. old and wrinkled skin. Like a snake, 

48. strong man, Samson. See Judges xvi, 13, 
14. 

so. mewing, renewing; originally used of a hawk 
molting. 

54. noise, noisy crew. 

55. flocking, not daring to act independently. 

b. 1. prognosticate, foretell, like the astrol- 
ogers and almanac makers, 

7. engrossers, merchants who dealt in large quan- 
tities, and often made a corner to raise prices. 
Milton compares to these the Licensers of Printing, 
who will set up a monopoly in knowledge. 

21. purchased, obtained. 

24. influence, mystic power; the original refer- 
ence is to astrology. 

43. law. The Roman law gave fathers power of 
life and death over children. 

44. despatch, slay. 

45. stick closest, be most faithful. See Proverbs 
xviii, 24. 

47. for coat ■ — • dangelt, merely to resist illegal 
taxation, the former part of the phrase referring 
to the clothing and conveyance of troops, the latter 
to ship-money. Milton is arguing for a nobler free- 
dom than that of not paying unjust taxes. 

51. utter, publish. 
55. unequal, unjust. 

263. o. 13. vote, solemn wish. 

18. last testament. See John xiv, 27. 
27. dis-conformity, dissent. 

38. coniroversal, opposite. The temple was open 
fn war, closed in peace. 

46. Her confuting, confutation by her. 

51. the discipline of Geneva, the form of faith 
and of church government accepted as perfect by 
the Presbyterians. 



52. fabyicked, fabricated, manufactured. 
56. casements, windows, collusion, deception. 
58. wise man, Solomon. See also Matthew xiii, 
44. 

b. 6. equipage, equipment. 
8. battle, army. 

22. shifts, sleights, contrivance 
31. Micaiah. See i Kings xxii, 1—2 

40. nailed to the cross. See Colossians ii, 14. 
purchase, boon, achievement. 

42. His doctrine. Romans xiv, 5—9. 
50. outward conformity, under royal and episco- 
pal government. 

52. linen decency, the outward conformity of a 
white surplice is abolished, but the spirit remains. 

264. a. I. care not, do not take care, truth sep- 
arated from truth, i.e., essentials from non-esseo- 
tials. 

8. wood, and hay, and stubble. See i Corinthians 
iii, 12. 

II. subdichotomies, sub-divisions. 

16. wheat from the tares. See Matthew xiii, 24— 
43. 

17. fry, small fish; properly, spawn. 
27. extirpate, extirpated. 

38. imity of Spirit. Ephesians iv, 3. 
45. bejesuitcd, made into Jesuits. 

53. unplausible, unappreciated. 
56. see to, look upon. 

b. 30. Convocation House, where the govern- 
ing body of the Church of England met. 

31. Chapel. The Puritan Assembly of Divines 
met in Henry VII's Chapel at Westminster in 
1643, and drew up a Confession of Faith and two 
Catechisms. 

2^. canonised, embodied in canons or rules. 

34. convincement, argument and conviction. 

35. supple, cure. 

36. edify, build up, establish. 

41. liege tombs. Henry VII's Chapel contains 
several royal tombs beside his own. 

47. that lue do not give, from giving. Latin con- 
struction. 

56. manage, handle. 

265. a. 8. Priests, Pharisees. See Matthew v, 20. 

9, precipitant, precipitate. 

18. the beginning of this Parliament. Nov. 3, 
1640. 

20. Imprimatur, The Licenser's stamp or in- 
scription, ' Let it be printed.' 

27. Moses, See Numbers xi, 28—29. 
29. young John. See Luke ix, 50. 

32. elders, the leaders of the Presbyterians. 
36. let, hindrance. 

40. Inquisition. One of the duties of the In- 
quisition was the prohibition of heretical books. 
The Dominican Order was especially active in the 
campaign against heresy. Both the Inquisition and 
the Dominicans were especially unpopular as Ro- 
man Catholic institutions to the Puritan readers to 
whom Milton was appealing. 

52. next before this. The earlier order was 
passed on Jan. 29, 1642. 

57. fire — executioner. Seditious books were 
burnt in public by the hangman. 



NOTES 



XCIX 



b. 3. authentic, genuine, so-called and really 
so. 

7. Star Chamber, abolished by the Puritans in 
1641 owing to its unjust exactions. It had charge, 
among other things, of licensing. 

12. Lucifer. See Isaiah xiv, 12. 

17. bind, by recognizances, as people enter into 
bonds for their good behavior in the English courts. 

19. precedent, of Jan. 29, 1642. 

22. doubted, suspected. 

24. monopolizers. The order of 1643 recognized 
the monopoly of the Stationers' Company, who ap- 
plied the fees for licensing in part to the ' relief 
and maintenance of their poor.' 

29. divers glossing colors, various specious mis- 
representations. 

32. exercise a superiority, exert authority, have 
an advantage. 

33. neighbors, fellow booksellers. 

34— S. therefore ■ — that, to the end that. 
' 36. vassals, subjects. 

40. malignant , seditious, royalist. 

42. sophisms and elenchs of merchandise, trade 
sophistries and fallacies. 

43. skill not, am not versed in or concerned about. 
45. incident, inevitable. 

49. what hath been erred, the mistakes that have 
been made. Latin construction. 

50. in, for those in. 

51. advertisement, warning. 



DRYDEN: HEROIC STANZAS 

Cromwell died on September 3, 1658, and was 
buried on November 23. When this poem was pub- 
lished in 1659, there was every appearance that 
Richard Cromwell was firmly established as his fa- 
ther's successor. Dryden's family was Puritan, and 
his admiration of the great Protector was no doubt 
sincere, though his expression of it is conventional 
and exaggerated. 

266. 1-4. And now 'tis time. At the end of a 
Roman emperor's funeral ceremonials, they let fly 
the sacred eagle which was supposed to carry his 
soul to heaven. 

8. authentic, authoritative, beyond dispute. 

15. prevent, anticipate. 

18. circular, perfectly rounded. 

267. 25. bays, garlands. 

32. Pompey, who acquired the title of ' Great ' 
before he was thirty, and brougnt his career to a 
culminating point on his forty-fifth birthday B. C. 
61 in a great trimphal procession, after that de- 
clined before the growing influence of Julius Cffisar. 
Cromwell came into public notice at 45, became 
Protector at 54, and died at the height of his fame 
at 59 — about the same age as Pompey when he was 
assassinated. 

41. Our former chiefs, the parliamentary gen- 
erals at the beginning of the war did not press the 
campaign against the king with vigor, sticklers, 
umpires, not combatants. 

42. poise, balance. 

45. consumption, destruction. 

43. breathing, letting. When Dryden became a , 



royalist poe^, his enemies interpreted this line as 
a condonation of the execution of Charles I. 

49. went, became. 

51. prevent, anticipate. 

56. the vestal, Tarpeia was crushed to death by 
the shields of the Sabines to whom she betrayed the 
citadel of Rome on the promise of the shields as 
reward. 

58. That giant-prince. Blake, the great Puritan 
admiral, died and was buried in Westminster Ab- 
bey about a year before Cromwell. 

64. halcyons, kingfishers. It was an ancient myth 
that the sea was calm during their breeding season. 
sea, correctly rimed with obey, according to the 
pronunciation of the time. 

ASTRvEA REDUX 

Immediately after the Restoration Dryden wel- 
comed that event as a return of the golden age of 
Justice, this being the significance of the title of 
his poem. The contrast with the political senti- 
ments of the previous poem is as marked as it was 
sudden. 

S. the white (cliffs of Dover). 

10. ravish, take away. 

13-16. Moses — name. See Exodus xxxiii, 20; 
xxxiv, 6. 
268. 33. Preventing, running before. 

36. May. Charles II entered London in 1660 on 
May 29, his birthday, 

39. That star, Venus, which on the day of Charles 
II's birth shone brightly at noon. 

43. whiter, more fortunate. A Latinism. 

45. morn, youth. 

S3. Cronos (later identified with Chronos, Time) 
in Greek mythology, was said to devour his own 
offspring. 

58. Holland, at this time England's great rival in 
the eastern trade. Each nation accused the other 
of misdoings in its foreign possessionr-, and denied 
the accusation when leveled against it!.-clf. 

61. France had reluctantly been Charijs II's host 
during part of his exile. 

72. Augustus, the first Roman empercir, whose 
reign was marked by peace, prosperity, £Tid progress 
in the arts. 

ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL 

This satirical poem, written, it is said, at the 
suggestion of Charles II, was directed against 
Shaftesbury, the minister whom Charles had dis- 
missed, and who had retaliated by arousing public 
alarm in connection with the Popish Plot and by 
furthering the claims of the Duke of Monmouth, 
the king's illegitimate son, to the throne, in opposi- 
tion to the lawful heir, Charles's brother, the Duke 
of York, who later succeeded as James II. In 
November, 1681, when the poem was published, 
Shaftesbury was a prisoner in the Tower on a 
charge of high treason, and Dryden's attack was 
no doubt meant to influence public feeling (and the 
jury) against him. In this respect it failed, for 
Shaftesbury was acquitted; but it made a great 
sensation and remains the most remarkable exam- 
£le_o££oliticaL. satire in the English language. The 



NOTES 



scriptural allegory is not closely adhered to and 
serves as a transparent veil for personal vitupera- 
tion. 

I. Jet usalem, London. 

9. David, Charles II. 

14. heathen, Roman Catholic. 

20. Jewish rabbins, leading clergy of the Church 
of England. 

269. 24. Plot, the Popish Plot, a Jesuit conspiracy, 
which if it ever existed, was greatly exaggerated for 
political purposes. 

34. Egyptian, French. 

35—37. This blasphemous sneer at the Roman 
Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation must have 
been regretted by Dryden after his conversion. 

43. court and stews. The king was (justly) sus- 
pected of being a Roman Catholic; his mistresses 
were known to be; so was the Duke of York, his 
brother. 

44. Hebrew priests. Church of England clergy- 
men. 

46. God's anointed, the king. One of the re- 
ports circulated about the Popish Plot was that the 
conspirators had planned the assassination of 
Charles II and the placing of his brother, who was 
a Roman Catholic, on the throne. 

57. threat, threaten. 

66. Achitophel, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of 
Shaftesbury, formerly Lord Chancellor, at this time 
the leader of the party in favor of making the 
Duke of Monmouth tlie next heir to the throne and 
excluding the Duke of York as a Roman Catholic. 

68. close, secret. 

73- pig^ny body. Shaftesbury was of small stature 
and his frame was enfeebled by disease. 

78. boast his ivit, show off his skill. 

86. unfeathered tivo-legged thing. A humorous 
description of man ascribed to Plato. Shaftes- 
bury's heir was a man of ' no ability and insig- 
nificant character.' 

87. huddled, confused. 

91. the triple bond, the Triple Alliance of Eng- 
land, Holland, and Sweden against France, made in 
1668 and exceedingly popular in England. It was 
broken in 1670 without Shaftesbury's knowledge by 
Charles II, who made a secret treaty with the 
French king. 

96-107. Added in the second edition, after 
Shaftesbury's acquittal. 

104. abbethdin, president of the Jewish judica- 
ture. Shaftesbury was Lord Chancellor 1672—3. 

270. III. cockle, weed. 

113. wanted, lacked. Dryden's compliment to 
himself as David, the sweet singer of Israel, is 
shameless, but true. His poem has proved ' im- 
mortal.' 

120. manifest, convicted. A Latinism. 

125. more he makes. Tlie charge that Shaftes- 
bury invented the Plot is absurd; but he undoubt- 
edly used it for political purposes by fomenting pub- 
lic agitation. 

129. Jebusite. One of the stories current at the 
time was that the king himself had become a Ro- 
man Catholic. It is now known that it was true. 

135. instinct. Accent on second syllable. 

137. warlike Absalom, the favorite son of the 



Biblical David, here signifying the Duke of Mon- 
mouth, Charles II's favorite son, though illegiti- 
mate. He had commanded an expedition sent to 
suppress a Scottish rising. 

140. title not allowed. Monmouth's claim to the 
succession was barred by his illegitimacy. 

143. democracy, then a form of government in 
disfavor. Dryden was so fond of this line that he 
repeated it in The Hind and the Panther (p. 273, 
L 211). 

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER 

In this religious and satirical allegory, which 
appeared two years after James II's accession and 
about a year after Dryden's conversion to Roman 
Catholicism, the ' milk-white Hind ' stands for the 
Church of Rome; the Panther, fair but spotted, for 
the Church of England; and the less attractive 
beasts for the Puritan sects which were most bit- 
terly opposed to Romanism. 

6. Scythians, famous archers of antiquity. 

8. doomed, sentenced, condemned. 

II. obnoxiotis, liable to injury from. 

13—16. The Roman martyrs in Great Britain since 
the Reformation. 

35. Bear, the Independent, or modern Congrega- 
tionalist. 

37. Hare, Quaker. 

39. Ape, Freethinker. 

41. Lion, King of England. 

271. 43. Boar, Anabaptist. The following lines re- 
fer to the excesses committed in connection with 
the Anabaptist rising in Germany in the sixteenth 
century. 

53. Reynard, the Arian. Arius, one of the early 
heretics of the Christian Church, held that God the 
Son was not co-existent or co-equal with God the 
Father; this doctrine was combated by Athanasius 
and condemned at the Council of Nice. 

55. Socinus, an Italian nobleman who revived 
Arian beliefs in the sixteenth century. 

70. her, the Roman Church. 

79. Three in One, the doctrine of the Trinity. 

93. host, the consecrated wafer of the Eucharist. 

95. Impassible, incapable of suffering. 

96-9. See John xx, 19—26. 

104. quarry, game, object of pursuit, 

121. proponent, proposing, putting forth. 

272. 128. bilanders, a Dutch word for small coast- 
ing vessels. 

135. A reference to the Roman doctrine of tran- 
substantiation. 

139. His clearest words. 'This is my body.' See 
Luke xxii, 19. 

144. compound, compromise. 

152. Polonian, Polish. The Polish Protestants 
adopted Socinianism. See 11. 54-55. 

153. Wolf, Presbyterian. 

165. An allusion at once to the Presbyterian doc- 
trine of predestination and the Puritan habit of 
cropping the hair close, which made the ears pro- 
ject. 

168. ruled a zvhile. During the Commonwealth. 

171. Cambria, Wales. The wolf was exterminated 
in Wales by the exaction of wolves' heads as 
tribute. 



NOTES 



ci 



173. Geneva — France. Calvin, originally a 
Frenchman, was appointed in 1536 Professor of 
Divinity at Geneva, where he drew up the system 
of faith and church government afterwards adopted 
by the French and other Protestants. 

176. Wyclif, the English reformer of the four- 
teenth century. 

178. Helvetian, Swiss. 

179. Leman, Geneva. 

180. Zwinglins, a Swiss Reformer a little earlier 
than Calvin. 

183. sanhedrim, Parliament. 
185. Corah. See Numbers xvi. 
187. ephod, priestly garment. 

189. class, a term in the Presbyterian system of 
church government. 

190. Fox, Reynard, the Arian. 

205. a puddle and a wall, the Lake of Geneva and 
the Alps. 

273. 211. See Absalom and Achitophel, p. 270, 1. 
143- 

228. teemless, itnproductive. 

232. Colchos, the home of the sorceress Medea. 
234. common-weal, republic. 

236. Adam was supposed to have given the beasts 
their names in the Garden of Eden. 

247. allay, alloy. 

248. shards, dung, which, it was thought, pro- 
aaced beetles. 

262. Lion, the King. 
267. commits (sin). 

274. 297. Levees and couchees, early and late en- 
tertainments at court. 

312. James II's Declaration of Indulgence to all 
dissenters from the Church of England was issued 
just before the poem was published. The royal 
favor and protection for Romanism had, of course, 
been shown before. 

333. It was a classical tradition — reversed here 
by Dryden on his own authority — that the wolf 
had power to take away the voice of a man it saw 
first. 

ALEXANDER'S FEAST 

This ode was written for a London musical so- 
ciety, which held au annual festival on Nov. 22, 
the day of St. Cecilia, reputed the inventor of the 
organ and the patron saint of music. 

1. for Persia won, for the .winning of Persia. 

2. By Philip's warlike son, Alexander, son of 
Philip of Macedon, and the conqueror of Persia. 

9. Thais, a famous Athenian courtesan who ac- 
companied Alexander into Asia, and, according to 
the tradition which Dryden makes use of in this 
poem, induced him to fire the palace of Persepolis. 

17. Timotheus, Alexander's favorite musician. 

22. from, with. 

275. 64. Darius, the Persian king whom Alexander 
had conquered. 

83. Lydian, soft, sensuous. 

113— 4. rear- — hair. Correctly rirned according to 
the pronunciation of the time. 

276. 139. vocal frame, organ. 

147. The tradition was that Cecilia, owing to her 
virtue and piety, was visited by an angel. 



ESSAY OF DRAMATIC POESY 

a. I. that memorable day, June 3, 1665. 

b. I. conduct, leadership. 

2. his royal highness, the Duke of York, after- 
wards James II. 

16. Eugenius, Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, who 
later became Earl of Dorset. Crites, Sir Robert 
Howard, Dryden's brother-in-law. Lisideius, Sir 
Charles Sedley. Neander, Dryden himself. 

26. the bridge, London bridge. 

278. 2. ^iV John Suckling. See p. 179. 

4. Mr. Waller. See p. 178. 

5. Sir John Denham. See p. 181. 
7. Mr, Cowley. See p. 183. 

S7. a genere et fine, a definition of class and ob 
ject. 

h. 16. Thespis (c. S40 B. C), the somewhaft 
fabulous inventor of Greek drama. 

17. Aristophanes (448— c. 38S B. C), the great 
Greek comic writer. 

30. virtuosi, those skilled in the fine arts. 
4S. pretend, lay claim. 

279. a. 25. want, lack. 
37. remember, remind. 

b. II. fable, plot, 

280. a. 33. Corneille (1606-84), the great French 
dramatist, contemporary with Dryden. 

b. 7. intended, aimed at. 

36. wanted, fell short. 

281. a, I. Macrobiris, c. beginning of fifth century 
A. D. 

7. Tully, Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B. C). 

282. a. 25. lively, lifelike. 

283. a. 3S. Scaliger (Julius Caesar), 1484-1558. 
b. 33. inartificial, inartistic. 

284. a. 15. shadow, palliate. 

28. sock and buskin, the stage shoe of comedy and 
tragedy respectively. 

57. the author, Ben Jonson. 

b, 28. clenches, playing upon words. 
41. Mr. Hales (1584—1656), Greek Professor at 
Oxford and Fellow of Eton College. 

58. precedent, predecessor, model. 

285. a. 4. censure, opinion. 

27. apt, inclined. 

b. 20. taxed, accused. 

37. comply with, observe. 



DEFOE: THE TRUE BORN ENGLISHMAN 

This poem was a reply to an attack on William 
III and the Dutch nation, entitled The Foreigners. 
It was so successful in turning popular opinion in 
the king's favor that he had Defoe sent for to ex- 
press his obligations to the writer. 
286. II— 14. See Matthew xxviii, 19. 

THE SHORTEST WAY WITH THE DIS- 
SENTERS 

The succession of Queen Anne in 1702 disap- 
pointed Defoe and his nonconformist friends, while 
it correspondingly encouraged the tory and high 
church party. The latter pressed for severe meas- 
ures against the dissenters, who had been tolerated 



Cll 



NOTES 



under William III, and allowed to compromise by 
' occasional conformity,' i.e., by going to church on 
official occasions and attending their own place of 
worship at other times. Defoe in his pamphlet en- 
deavored to show the absurdity of the high church 
position by making extravagant claims on their be- 
half, although he took occasion to aim a blow now 
and then at the inconsistency of his own side. The 
result was that he offended both parties, although 
for a while the high church clergy were so deceived 
that, according to Defoe, one of them wrote to him 
that next to the Holy Bible and Sacred Comments 
he held The Shortest Way with the Dissenters ' as 
the most valuable thing I can have. I look upon it 
as the Only Method! and I pray God to put it into 
the heart of our most gracious Queen, to put what is 
there proposed in execution.' 

2S7. b. 10. Sir Roger L'Estrange, ^ prolific pam- 
phleteer, the founder in 1665 of the Gazette, the first 
English newspaper which has continued to appear 
regularly ever since. It is the official organ of the 
British Government. 

22. some people, the Nonconformists. 

33. fourteen years, from the Revokition of 1688 to 
1702. 

35. church, the Church of England. 
Z7. sort, set, lot. 

41. reproach of the wicked. Writing in the char- 
acter of a high church clergyman, Defoe imitates 
Scripture phraseology. 

288. a. 8. Act of Toleration (1689), relieving the 
nonconformists from penalties for not attending the 
services of the Church of England. 

15. abjurations. The clergy were required to 
take an oath of fidelity to William III and abjure 
their allegiance to James. Many refused and were 
deprived of their livings. 

28. a war. William engaged, with varying suc- 
cess, in a prolonged struggle against Louis XIV of 
France. 

34. in France. After the Revocation of the Edict 
of Nantes in 1685, the Huguenots were forced to 
conform or leave the country. 

38—40. one king ■ — another . . . a third. 
Charles I, James II, William III. 

42. the fourth, Anne. 

b. 40. a sordid impostor, Oliver Cromwell. 

289. a. 23—4. Just such measure — again. See Mat- 
thew vii, 2. 

41. regicides, the . judges who condemned 
Charles I. 

52. Rye House Plot (1682—3), a conspiracy to as- 
sassinate Charles II and his brother James. 

55. unusual favor. James was in favor of toler- 
ation to both Puritan and Roman Catholic dissent- 
ers; but the Puritans, suspecting that his designs 
were really directed to Roman Catholic supremacy, 
joined in the movement against him. 

b. 20. a king of their own, William III. 

31. Scotland. The Church of Scotland, with the 
consent of William III, abolished episcopacy, and 
has ever since been presbyterian in its form of gov- 
ernment. 

290. a. 32. the right heir. The high church Tories 
who had remained loyal to James II looked forward 
to putting his son on the throne at the death of 



Anne. The Elector of ITanover, who became George 
I, was hot in the direct line of succession. 

34. ridiculous settlements. The act of Settlement, 
passed by Parliament in 1701, vested the succession 
in the House of Hanover. 

48. French king. Louis XIV expelled 400,000 
Huguenots. 

b. 2. some animals, rats. 

22. the common enemy, France. 

291. a. 17. Monmouth, beheaded after the rebellion 
of 1685. 

18. Shaftesbury, died in exile 1683. Argyle, head 
of a Scottish rising against James; executed 1685. 
28. experimentally, as a result of experience. 

56. impossible (if the dissenters are tolerated). 

b. 18—19. What will — spoken for? See Song 
of Solomon viii, 8. 

22. enthusiasm was associated with dissenters, and 
generally regarded with disfavor in the eighteenth 
century. 

45. sensitive, of the senses, physical, these, the 
dissenters. 

292. a. 24. Amalekite race. The enemies of Israel 
in Canaan. See i Samuel xv. 

42. Moses — Israelites, See Exodus xxxii, 28. 
The number given there is, however, three thousand. 

57. gallows instead of the counter, hanging in- 
stead of imprisonment. 

58. counter, a city prison, galleys, enslavement to 
the oar in a galley. 

b. I, conventicle, a gathering of dissenters for 
worship. 

5. sheriffs and mayors. It was the custom of dis- 
senters to go to Church on their appointment to of- 
ficial positions, in accordance with the law. 

34. hang men for trifles. Hanging was the pun- 
ishment for stealing in England up to 1823. 

293. b. 53. humor, spirit, influence. 

294. a. 39. religious hoiises, convents, which were 
at this time illegal. 

40, meeting houses, for nonconformist worship. 

PREFACE TO THE REVIEW 

The Review, begun on Feb. 19, 1704, and pub- 
lished first once, then twice a week, for nine years 
gave Defoe scope for his talents as a journalist. 
The original title was A Review of the Affairs of 
France and of all Europe, as influenced by that Na- 
tion, France being at that time the center of Eu- 
ropean politics. Defoe discussed not only politics 
but trade and current gossip; he invented not only 
editorial comment, which was before unknown, but 
personal interviews, scandalous personalities, answers 
to correspondents, and many other features of the 
modern newspaper. The numbers of the Review 
were issued afterwards in annual volumes, and in 
this preface to Vol. I Defoe sets forth his motives 
and aims in the undertaking. 

294. b. 42. the Wise Man, Solomon. 

47. first design. See the original title, as given 
above. 

295. a. 15. Marlborough, the great English general 
who defeated the French at Blenheim, Aug. 13, 1704. 
The war continued for several years. 

b- 24. negoce, commerce. 



NOTES 



cm 



296. b. 2. its birth. The design of the Review was 
conceived by Defoe in prison. 

297. a. 10. D. F. Daniel Foe. The name Defoe 
was adopted by the author a year later. 

THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN 
The Essay upon Projects, from which this paper is 
taken, was written in 1692, but first printed in 1697. 

297. a. 27. convcrsible, fit for human intercourse. 
b. 13. wit, intellectual ability. 

32. more tongues than one. Milton is reported to 
have said that one tongue was enough for any 
woman. 

43. genius, natural ability. 

298. a. 17. female government, government by 
women. 

SAVIFT: A TALE OF A TUB 

299. A Tale of a Tub. 

' Seamen have a custom, when they meet a whale, 
to fling him out an empty tub by way of amuse- 
ment, to divert him from laying violent hands upon 
■the ship . . . the whale was interpreted to be 
Hobbes's Leviathan . . . whence the wits of our 
age are said to borrow their weapons , . . and 
it was decreed, that, in order to prevent these 
Leviathans from tossing and sporting with the Com- 
monwealth . . . they should be diverted from 
that game by a Tale of a Tub.' (Swift's Preface.) 

300. a. 32. d'Argent, of wealth, de Grands Titres, 
of distinguished titles. 

33. d'Orgueil, of pride. 

49. Locket's, a famous ordinary, or tavern, at 
Charing Cross. Will's coffee-house. See below, 
325. a. 34, note. 

b. 24. grande monde, world of fashion. 

37. Jupiter Capitolinus. From his temple on the 
Capitoline Hill, Rome. 

301. a. 12. They held the universe to be a large 
suit of clothes, etc. Compare Carlyle's Sartor Re- 
sartus. 

16. primum mobile. In the Ptolemaic cosmogony, 
the outer or tenth revolving sphere. 

b. 21. ex traduce. From the root; from the 
original stock. 

302. a. 32. shoulder-knots. This fashion had been 
introduced from France in the reign of Charles II. 
See Taller, No. 82. 

35. ruelles, private gatherings. 

303. a. 38. nuncupatory and scriptory, verbal and 
written. 

b. 23. my lord C — and Sir J. W. have not 
been identified. 

305. a. 41. fonde, fund, stock, capital. 
307. a. 1—3. Varias inducere . , , piscem, Hor- 
ace, Ars Poetica, 11. 2 and 4. 

312. b. 49. Newgate. The London prison for debt- 
ors and malefactors. 

52. Exchange women. Women who kept shops in 
the piazzas of the Royal Exchange. For Steele's 
description, see p. 333. 

S4. the mobile, the mob. Latin, mobile vulgus. 
314, a. 58. The philosopher's stone and the uni- 
versal medicine. Sought by medieval alchemists 
and mystics. 



315. b. I. the giant Laurcalco. Inaccurate allusion 
to the passage (Don Quixote, Bk. I, Chap. XVIII) 
in which Don Quixote mistakes a flock of sheep for 
an army. ' That knight — is the valorous Laur- 
calco, Lord of the Silver Bridge.' 

b. 16—17. on ancient temple . . . upon Salis- 
bury plain. Probably Stonehenge. 

316. a. 4. a disease . . . the stinging of the 
tar.antula. Tarantism, or dancing mania, was sup- 
posed to be so caused, and curable only by music or 
dancing. 

a. 9. iVestminster-hall, etc. Places noteworthy 
for their noises; Westminster Hall frequented by 
lawyers; Billingsgate famous for the bad language 
of its fish-wives; the Royal Exchange a center for 
brokers and merchants of all nations. 

b. 7. janizary, a mercenary soldier in the 
bodyguard of the Sultan, in the middle ages. 

318. b. 10. a spunging house. A tavern for the 
temporary detention of persons arrested for debt. 

A MEDITATION UPON A BROOMSTICK 
Hon. Robert Boyle (1627-1691). A celebrated 
scientist, ' The father of chemistry and brother to 
the Earl of Cork.' One of the original members of 
the Royal Society. Swift's essay travesties the 
platitudinous moralizing of his religious meditations, 

A MODEST PROPOSAL 
321. b. 25. the famous Psalmariasar. George 
Psalmanazar, a notorious impostor, pretended to be 
a native of Formosa, of which he published a De- 
scription in 1705. 
323, a. 16. Topinamboo, A district of Brazil. 



STEELE: THE TATLER 

325. a. 33. White's Chocolate-house. In St. James's 
Street. Famous for gambling. 

34. Will's Coffee-house. No. i. Bow Street, 
Covent Garden. Originally kept by William Ur- 
win. Pepy's Diary mentions it, Feb. 3, 1663, as a 
resort of Dryden and notable for ' very witty and 
pleasant discourse.' 

35. Grecian. Coffee-house in the Strand, orig- 
inally kept by a Greek named Constantine, had 
been a resort of Newton, other members of the 
Royal Society, and Templars. 

36. Saint James's Coffee-house. Near St. James's 
Palace. A resort of Whig statesmen, military men, 
and men of fashion. 

45. plain Spanish. A simple wine. 

48. kidney, temper, humor. A pun on the name 
of one of the waiters. 

b. I. casting a figure. Determining the horo- 
scope. 

THE SPECTATOR 

326. a. 39. Lord Rochester. John Wilmot, Earl of 
Rochester (1647—80), a fashionable rake and poet 
of the Restoration period. Sir George Etherege 
(1639-94). The Restoration dramatist. Like 
Rochester, a courtly rake. 

41. Bully Dawson, d. 1699. A notorious swag- 
gerer and gamester. 



NOTES 



b. IS. Inner Temple. One of the Inns of 
Court. 

24. Aristotle, etc. The reference is to his Poetics. 

25. Longinus. Greek Philosopher, third century 
A. D., to whom the essay. On Sublimity, is doubt- 
fully ascribed. 

26. Littleton or Coke. Sir Thomas Littleton 
(1402— 1481) and Sir Edward Coke (iS52-i634) 
were members of the Inner Temple (above, b. 15). 
A work of the first with commentary by the second 
used to be the English authority on the law of real 
property. 

36, Demosthenes. The greatest Greek Orator 
(384-322 B. C). Tully. Marcus TuUius Cicero 
(106—43 B.C.), Roman orator and philosopher. 

5-8. The Rose. A tavern adjoining Drury Lane 
Theater. 

327. a. 6. the city of London. The central or busi- 
ness district is so called. Again below, 334. b. 11. 

328. a. 10. Duke of Monmouth. The Absolom of 
Dryden's Absolom and Achitophel. See above, 268. 

329. o. 43. Sir Richard Blackmore (c. 1650-1729). 
Physician to William III, and a poet of repute in 
his day. 

332. a. 29. Martial (Bk. I, 69), Latin poet, first 
century A. D. 

b. 55. Strand Bridge, A landing pier at the 
foot of Strand Lane, giving access to the Strand. 

333. a. 19. The Vainloves. Vainlove is ' a ca- 
pricious lover ' in Congreve's comedy. The Old 
Bachelor, 

334. b. I. Robin's. A coffee-house in Exchange Al- 
ley, frequented by brokers. 

II. the city. See 327. a. 6, note. 

ADDISON: THE SPECTATOR 

336 b. 22 Child's. Coffee-house in St. Paul's 
Churchyard. 

30. the Cocoa-tree. A chocolate-house frequented 
by tories as St. James's by whigs. The Spectator 
pretends to patronize both. 

31—2. Drury Lane and the Haymarket. The two 
principal theaters of London. The Theater Royal 
in Drury Lane, designed by Sir Christopher Wren, 
had been opened in 1674. The Haymarket Opera 
House, designed and built by Sir John Van Brugh, 
had been opened in 1705. 

36. Jonathan's. Coffee-house in Cornhill. ' The 
general mart for stock-jobbers.' {Taller, No. 38.) 
337. b. 8. Mr. Buckley's. Buckley was the pub- 
lisher. 

9, Little Britain. A street in London. 
341. a. 25. Moll White The witch described in 
Spectator, No. 117 

342; a. 11. The Committee (1665). Comedy by Sir 
Robert Howard. 

15. Distressed Mother. Adaptation, by Ambrose 
Philips, of Racine's Andromaqtie. Produced 1712. 

24. The Mohocks. Some ruffianly carousers of' 
the upper classes assumed this name. They com- 
mitted a series of outrages in 1712. 
345. b. 49. Mr. Cowley, etc. See Cowley's 

Davideis iii, 403—4. 

26. Callus, Caius Cornelius (c. 69—26). Roman 
poet and general. 



Propertius, Sextus (c. 30—16 B. C), poet. 

27. Horace. Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65—8 
B. C.)., the Roman poet. 

Varius. Lucius Varius Rufus, ist century B. C. 

Tucca, Plotius Tucca and Lucius Varius were 
Virgil's literary executors. 

Ovid, Publius Ovidius Naso (43 B. C.-c. 17 
A. D.). 

28. Bavius and Maevius. Inferior Roman poets 
mentioned by Virgil (Eel. iii) and Horace (.Epode 

X). 

347. a. 40. Sir John Denham, See p. 181. 

56. The Art of Criticism. Pope's Essay on 
Criticism. See p. 350. 

b, 18. Boileau (1636— 1711), French critic and 
poet. 

48. Petronius Arbiter. Roman satirical author. 
Died c 66 A. D. 

Quintilian. Marcus Fabius Quintilianus (c. 35— 
c. 95 A. D.), Roman rhetorician. 

49. Longinus. See 326. b. 2$, note. 

348. b. 1—2. Essay on Translated Verse. By Weiit- 
worth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon (1634-85). 

2—3. Essay on the Art of Poetry. By John Shef- 
iield, Duke of Buckinghamshire (1649— 172 1). 

47. The path of an arrow.' Wisdom of Solomon, 
V, 12—13. The quotation is inaccurate. 

349. a. 47. Sir Cloudesley Shovel. Commander of 
the British fleets from 1705. Drowned 1707. 



POPE: AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM 

351. 34. Mcevius. See Addison's comment, p. 347. 

352. 129-30. the Mantuan Muse . . . young 
Maro. Virgil. See 783. 19, note. 

138. the Stajirite. Aristotle. 

353. 180. Homer nods. Allusion to Horace, Ars 
Poetica, 359. 

216. the Pierian Spring. Pieria in Thessaly was 
the reputed birthplace of the Muses, 
354 248. E'en thine, O Rome. St. Peter's. 

267. La Mancha's Knight. Don Quixote. 

270. Dennis — stage. John Dennis, the critic and 
playwright, made sententious references to the dra- 
m.atic precepts of Aristotle. This allusion and an- 
other, lines 585—591, initiated Pope's quarrel with 
him. 

328. Fungoso. A character in Ben Jonson's 
Every Man Out of His Humour, who tries, with- 
out success, to keep up with court fashions. 

355. 356. Alexandrine. The succeeding line is an 
example. 

361. Denham. See p. 181 Waller. See p. 178. 
372. Camilla. In Virgil's Aeneid vii, 808—11. 
374—383. Compare Dryden's Alexander's Feast, p. 
274. 

376. Son of Libyan Jove. Alexander the Great. 
391. Approve, test, put to the proof. 

356. 441. Sentences. The Sententiae of Peter Lom- 
bard, 12th century. 

444. Scotists and Thomists. Followers of the 
thirteenth century schoolmen. Duns Scotus and 
Thomas Aquinas. 

463. Blackmores. See 329. a. 43, note. B. at- 
tacked Dryden in ' A Satire on Wit.' 



NOTES 



ev 



Milbourns. Luke Milbourn, a clergyman, at- 
tacked Uryden's translation of Virgil. 

465. Zoilus. Greek critic of the 4th century 
B. C, said to have been put to death for criticiz- 
ing Homer. 

357. 483. Such as Chaucer is. Pope and his gener- 
ation regarded Chaucer as obsolete. 

527. Spleen, anger, ill-temper. 

536. love was all an easy Monarch's care. The 
reign of Charles II is referred to. 

544. a foreign reign. That of William III. 

545. Socinus. Italian unitarian of the sixteenth 
century. 

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK 

CANTO I 

358. 3. Caryl. John Caryl, a friend and corre- 
spondent of Pope. 

4. Belinda. Miss Arabella Fermor, a belle of 
the period from whom the lock celebrated in the 
poem was stolen. 

8. a well-bred lord. Lord Petre, who had stolen 
the curl. 

17. the slipper knocked the ground. Rapping for 
the servant. 

56. ombre. See 362. 27, note. 

73. Spark. A beau, a lady-killer. 

CANTO II 

360. 25. springes. Snares, of. Hamlet, I. iii, 115. 

361. 113. drops, earrings. 

133. Ixion. For an offense to Zeus, fastened to 
an eternally revolving wheel in Hades. 

CANTO in 

3. a structure of majestic frame. Hampton Court, 
one of the royal residences. 

27. ombre. A game of cards, of Spanish origin, 
usually played by three persons. 
862. 47. Matadores. The three highest cards at 
ombre. 

49. Spadillio. Ace of Spades. 

51. Manillio. The two of a black, the seven of a 
red, trump. 

53. Basto. Ace of clubs. 

61. Pam. Knave of clubs, the highest card in 
the game of loo. 

92. codille. Failure to get the requisite tricks. 

363. 122-24. Scylla's fate . . . Nisus' injured 
hair. Pope's note refers to Ovid, Metam. viii. 

151. cut the sylph in twain. Compare Par. Lost 
vi, 330. 

165. Atalantis. A book of contemporary scandal 
by Mrs. Manley, The New Atalantis (1709). 

CANTO IV 

364. 16. Spleen. See 357. 527, note. 
24. Megrim. Tired feeling, the blues. 
89. Thalestris. One Mrs. Morley. 

366. 1 18. the sound of Bow. St. Mary Le Bow, 
in Cheapside, the heart of the city, was famous for 
its peal of bells. 

»2i. Sir Plume. Sir George Brown. He threat^ 



ened Pope with violence for this delightfully ma- 
licious caricature. 

156. bohea. A kind of tea, from the Chinese 
province whence it was first imported in 1666. 

CANTO V 

366. s. The Trojan, ^neas. See ^neid iv, 296 ff. 
62. Dapperwit. ' A brisk, conceited, half-witted 

fellow of the town ' bears this name in Wycher- 
ley's Love in a Wood. 

367. 63. Sir Fopling. Suggested, perhaps, by Sir 
Fopling Flutter in Etherege's The Man of Mode. 

65. Meander, A river of Asia Minor frequently 
mentioned in classical poetry. Celebrated for its 
windings. 

125. Rome's great founder. Romulus. 

126. Proculus. The legend is given in Livy I, 6. 

136. Rosamonda's lake. A pond in St. James's 
Park. 

137. Partridge. An astrologer and almanac maker 
ridiculed by Swift in his Bickerstaff papers. 

138. Galileo's eyes. The telescope. 

368. 140. Louis. Louis XIV, King of France. 
Rome. The Papacy. 

EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT 

Dr. John Arbuthnot was Pope's friend and phy- 
sician, a wit and a man of letters. 

13. gentle Fanny's. John, Lord Hervey, a friend 
of Lady Mary Wortley Monta^ was frequently 
lampooned by Pope, under this name. 

15. Gildon, Charles (1665— 1724). A hack writer. 
Pope pretended to believe that Addison had paid 
Gildon to defame him; hence, 'venal.' 

20. Bedlam. Bethlehem hospital for the insane. 

the Mint. A part of Southwark London, in which 
criminals and debtors could take refuge from ar- 
rest. 

29. The bard . . . renown. Ambrose Philips, 
whose pastorals had excited Pope's jealousy. 

40. Tate, Nahum, a poetaster of the Restoration 
period, celebrated for his atrocious adaptations of 
Shakspere's plays. 

59. Cato. An allusion to Addison's drama. 

THOMSON: SUMMER 

370. 50. Stygian, dark. From Styx, one of the riv- 
ers of Hades. 



THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE 

374. 32. Philomel, the nightingale. 

375. 75. the rural poets. Those who treated pas- 
toral subjects. 

76. Arcadian. See Life of Sidney, p. 81. 
Sicilian. Sicily was the home of a group of pas- 
toral poets of whom the chief was Theocritus. 

98. Lorraine, Claude Lorrain (1600—82), French 
landscape painter. 

99, Rosa, Salvator (c. 1615-1673). Neapolitan 
painter noted for his battle pieces. 

Poussin, Doubtless Nicholas Poussin (1594— 
1665). French landscape and historical painter. 
131. mell, mingle, mix. 



CVl 



NOTES 



MINOR POETS — YOUNG TO CHATTERTON 
JOHN gay: the shepherd's week 

379. 67. Jack Pudding. A popular nickname for a 
clown or mountebank's assistant. 

68. Toffs, doffs, draws off. There is an old popu- 
lar amusement called ' draw the glove.' See Brand's 
Popular Antiquities. 

69. raree-shows, peep-shows. 

71. ' the children in the wood.' This famous old 
ballad is in Percy's Reliques. 

74. fauchion, falchion. See 404. 62, note. 

79—80. For buxom Joan . , . the maid a wife. 
The words and music of this song are in D'Urfrey's 
Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol. Ill, pp. 220-221. 

82. Chevy-Chace. For this ballad, see p. 42. 

91. He sung of Taffy Welch, and Sawney Scot. 
Taffy (Davy) is the regular nickname for a Welsh- 
man, Sawney (Sandy) for a Scotchman. The refer- 
ence may be to The National Quarrel, D'Urfey's 
Pills to Purge Melancholy, Vol. II, p. 76. 

92. Lilly-bullcro. A political ballad which was 
popular during the Protestant Revolution of 1688. 
The refrain is drawn from an old Irish song. 

The Irish Trot. Possibly the ribald old song, 
called The Irish Jigg, which is given in D'Urfey's 
collection, v, 108. 

93. Bateman. The reference is to Bateman's 
Tragedy, preserved in Ritson's Ancient Songs, etc. 
(ed. Hazlitt), p. 231, 

Shore. Jane ^ore, the mistress of King Edward 
IV, was a celebrated character in ballad and drama. 
See Percy, Reliques, and D'Urfey's Pills to Purge 
Melancholy, iv, 273. 

94. Wantley's Dragon . . . Moore. The air 
and words are in D'Urfrey's collection, Vol. Ill, p. 

ID. 

95. the bower of Rosamond. Rosamond Clifford, 
the mistress of King Henry II, was the subject of 
irany popular legends, among which was that of the 
subterranean labyrinth known as Rosamond's bower. 
Fair Rosamond is the title of a ballad in Percy's 
Reliques. 

Robin Hood. For examples of the Robin Hood 
ballads, see pp. 38—42. 

96. And how the grass, etc. The ballad of Troy 
town is in Percy's Reliques. In D'Urfrey's Pills 
to Purge Melancholy, iv, 266, we meet with a ballad 
called The Wandering Prince of Troy, which con- 
tains the line, ' And corn now grows where Troy 
town stood.' 

JOHN dyer: geongar hill 

381. 23. Towy's flood. The river Towy, in Wales, 
flows south into Caermarthen Bay. 

WILLIAM SHENSTONE : THE SCHOOLMISTRESS 
383. 15. Tway, two. 

56. Sternhold, Thomas (c. 1500-1549), with John 
Hopkins wrote a metrical version of the Psalms. 

60—64. How Israel's sons . . . sing. Psalm 
137- 

' By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept,' 
etc. 
884. 73. like that of Scottish stem. A slose of 



supposed miraculous properties formed a part of 'he 
Scottish coronation chair at Scone. Edward I car- 
ried it off to Westminster in token of the subju- 
gation of Scotland in 1297. It has since been a 
part of the chair in which all English sovereigns are 
crowned. 

102. Mulla's silver stream. The river Mulla 
flowed near Kilcolman Castle, Spenser's home in 
Ireland. See Life of Spenser, p. 104. 

108. ermilin, ermine. 

WILLIAM COLLINS : ODE TO SIMPLICITY 

387. 14. Hybla's thymy shore. Mount Hybla in 
Sicily is celebrated in classical poetry for the sweet- 
ness of its honey. 

16—18. By her . . . Electro's poet's ear. ' Tlite 
nightingale for which Sophocles seems to have en- 
tertained a peculiar fondness.' (Collins.) 

19. Cephisus. A river of Attica. 

35. One distinguished throne. Augustus Cxsar. 
52. reed. The symbol of pastoral poetry. 

388. 75. their chaste-cy'd queen. Diana. 

86. Tempe. A valley adjacent to Olympus in 
Thessaly. See, also, 636. 11, note. 

389. 104. Devote, devoted. 

114. Cecilia's mingled world of sound. Compare 
Dryden, Alexander's Feast, 276. 138. 

THOMAS WARTON : THE GRAVE OF KING 
ARTHUR 

4. Cilgarran's castle hall. There are ruins of a 
thirteenth century castle at Kilgerran, in Southern 
Wales. 

6. Henry. King Henry II, on his expedition foi 
the conquest of Wales and Ireland. 

8. Shannon's lakes. Shannon, the principal river 
of Ireland, flows through a chain of lakes. 

12. metheglin, mead, liquor. A Celtic beverage. 

20. Mono, Anglesea, an island and county of 
North Wales. 

21. Teivi, the river Teifi, which flows westward 
into Cardigan Bay. 

22. Elvy's vale. Valley of the river Elwy, in 
Northwestern Wales. 

Cader's crown. Cader Idris, a mountain in 
Northwestern Wales. 

24. lerne's hoarse abyss. The Irish Sea. 

26. Radnor's . . , mountains. Radnor is a 
county in the interior of Wales. 

33. Tintagell. A village on the coast of Corn- 
wall, the reputed birthplace of King Arthur. 

40. Camlan's crimson'd banks. According to 
legend Arthur perished in the battle of Camlan (c. 
542). 

41. Mordred. See Malory's Morte d'Arthur, p. 
19 ff. 

SO. Merlin's agate-axled car. An invention of the 
magician Merlin. 

SONNETS : dugdale's MONASTICON 
A huge compilation of English monastic history 
by Sir William Dugdale (1605-1686) is ordinarily 
known as Dugdale's Monasticon. 
390. 5. Henry's fiercer rage. Henry VIII's disrup 
I tion of the monasteries. 



NOTES 



evil 



WRITTEN AT STONEHENGE 
Warton here summarizes the various legends 
known to him concerning the origin and meaning 
of the celebrated pre-historic ruin in Salisbury Plain, 
Wiltshire. 

2. Scythia's shore. An indefinite term for north- 
east Europe and adjacent parts of Asia, employed 
U'ith varying meaning by the ancients. 

3. Amber. The Islands in the North Sea were 
vaguely known to the Greeks as the Amber Islands. 

Pendragon, Uther. The father of King Arthur. 

THOMAS CHATTERTON : BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE 

This poem is probably based on the story of Sir 
Baldwin Fulford, who was executed at Bristol in 
1461. With many others who fought on the Lan- 
castrian side he was a victim of an act of attainder 
which followed the accession of Edward IV. 
William Canynge, who figures in this and other 
poems of Chatterton, is a historical personage, and 
was mayor of Bristol at the time of Fulford's exe- 
cution. 

13. nappy, sparkling, 
S91. 58. rewyn'd, ruined. 

73. rentes, reins, kidneys. 
392. 141. goddelyke Henry. King Henvy VI, lived 
In captivity for ten years after the accession of 
Edward. 

183. Richard's sonnes. Richard, Duke of York, 
was father of Edward IV and Richard III. 
S93. 263. enshone, showed. 

271. russet weedes. Homespun clothes. 

272. plyghte, weave, texture. 

276. bataunt, Chatterton's invention; no such in- 
strument is known. 

288. route, troop, company. 
394. 306. mycle, much. 

335. Gloucester. Afterward King Richard III. 

347. glysterr, glisten. 

MYNSTRELLES SONGE 
895. 3. hallie. holy. 
10. Rodde, red. 
ji. cale, cold, 
13. Swoie, sweet. 
25. heie, they. 

38. Seyncte, Saint. 

39. celness, coldness, 

43. dente, fasten. 

44. gre, grow. 

45. Ouphante, elfin. 

46. bee, bow. 

58. leathalle, lethal, deadly. 



THOMAS GRAY: SONNET ON THE DEATH 
OF MR. RICHARD WEST 

Richard West, son of the Lord Chancellor of Ire- 
land, had been Gray's most intimate friend at Eton 
and his constant correspondent while they were at 
'Oxford and Cambridge respectively. See also the 
sketch of Gray, p. 396. 



AN ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON 
COLLEGE 

396. 4. Her Henry's holy Shade. Eton College was 
founded by King Henry VI in 1440. See, also, 
392. a. 141, note. 

397. 6. Windsor's heights, etc. Windsor Castle, 
overlooking Eton, is one of the royal residences. 

HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

398. 3S. Gorgon, the terror-inspiring image on the 
shield of Pallas Athene, goddess of wisdom. 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- 
YARD 

399. 57. Hampden (John 1594-1643). One of the 
chief heroes of the Puritan revolt. Resisted the 
collection of ship-money, 1637—38. 

THE PROGRESS OF POESY 

400. I. Saltan lyre. The lyre of Pindar who be- 
longed to the ^olian division of the Greek race. 
See, also, p. 163, A Pindaric Ode, note. 

3. Helicon. See 244. 15, note. 

9. Ceres' ■ golden reign. Fields ruled by Ceres, 
goddess of grain and harvest. 

17. On Thracia's hills, etc. Thrace was thought 
to be a favorite haunt of Mars. 

21. the feathered king. Jove's eagle, symbolical 
of the thunderbolt. 

27. Idalia. An ancient town in Cyprus conser 
crated to Venus. 

29. Cytherea's Day. The day for the worship of 
Venus. 

401. 53. Hyperion's march. The sunrise. 

66. Delphi's steep. The seat of the Greek oracie. 
See 450. 517, note. 

68. Ilissus. A small stream flowing through 
Athens. 

69. Meander. The river Maeander in Asia Minor. 
83-94. Shakspere. 

95—102. Milton. 

112. what daring spirit, etc. Gray himself. 

115. the Theban Eagle. 'Pindar compares him- 
self to that bird, and his enemies to ravens that 
croak and clamor in vain below, while it pursues its 
flight, regardless of their noise.' (Gray.) 

THE BARD 
' The following ode is founded on a tradition 
current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he 
completed the conquest of that country, ordered all 
the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death.' 
(Gray.) ' The massacre of the bards is a mere 
fable.' (J. R. Green.) 

402. a. 5. Hauberk's twisted mail. A close-fitting 
shirt of steel ringlets. 

8. Cambria. Wales. 

11. Snowdon. The highest mountain in England 
or Wales. The name applies also to the mountain- 
ous tract of, which this peak is a part. 

13. Gloster. ' Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the 
Red, Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-lav 
to King Edward.' (Gray.) 

14. Mortimer. ' Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of 
Wigmore. A Lord Marcher.' (Gray.) 



cvin 



NOTES 



-8. high-born Hoel. Son of Prince Owain 
Cwynedd of north Wales. A warrior and poet. 

Llewellyn, possibly Llewellyn ap Jorwerth, the 
Welsh leader, is meant. 

29. Cadivallo. A common Welsh bardic name. 

31. Urien. A Welsh warrior and bard of the 
sixth century. 

33. Modred. No bard of this name is known. 

34. Plinlimmon. A mountain on the border of 
Cardigan and Montgomery, in Wales. 

35. Arvon's shore. The shores of Caernarvon- 
shire opposite Anglesey. (Gray.) 

54-56. When Severn . , . an agonising King. 
Edward II was murdered in Berkeley castle in Sep- 
tember, 1327. 

57. She-Wolf of France, etc. Isabel of France, 
Edward the Second's adulterous queen. 

59-66. King Edward III. 

67. the sable Warrior. The Black Prince. 

71-82. Reign of Richard II. 
403. 85. Long years of havoc. Wars of the Roses. 

87. Towers of Julius. The Tower of London, ac- 
cording to tradition, built by Julius Cxsar. See 
Shakspere's Richard III, iii, i. There is no author- 
ity to confirm the tradition. (Wheatley and Cun- 
ningham: London Past and Present.) 

89. his Consort's faith. Margaret of Anjou. 

his father's fame. The military glory of Henry V. 

90. the meek Usurper's holy head. Henry VI 
was noted for his piety. 

93. The bristled Boar. The insignia of Richard 
IIL 

infant gore. Of the murdered princes. 

110. ye genuine Kings. The Tudor line, begin- 
ning with Henry VII. 

111-124. The reign of Queen Elisabeth. 

121. Taliessin. Cymric bard of the sixth cen- 
tury. 

125—27. Spenser. 

128—30. Shakspere. 

131—34. Milton and succeeding poets. 

THE FATAL SISTERS 

Written in 1761. The text of the poem from 
which Gray derived these stanzas may be found, 
with a prose translation, in Corpus Poeticum 
Boreale, Vol. I, pp. 281-83. It is an Icelandic 
poem of the eleventh century celebrating an invasion 
of Ireland by a Norse hero, Sictrygg, who was as- 
sisted by Sigurd, Earl of the Orkneys. Sigurd and 
Brian, the Irish king, fall in the battle. The 
Valkries are imagined weaving the web of battle. 
The title of the original is Darradar-Liod \.Lay of 
the Darts^. 

404. 8. Orkney's woe. The woe of Sigurd, Earl of 
Orkney. 

Randver's bane. Direct from the original. Rand- 
ver's destruction. 

17—31. Mist a . . . Sangrida . . . Hilda 
. . . Gondula . . . Geira. The names of 
the Valkyries in the original are Hilda, Hiorthrimol, 
Sangrida, and Swipol. 

44. Soon a King, etc. Brian, King of Dublin. 

45. Eirin. Ireland. 

62. falchion. A short sword, bellied near the 
tip. 



JOHNSON: THE LIFE OF ADDISON 



406. a. 25. the Chartreux. Originally a Carthusian 
monastery in London. Endowed in 1611 as a hos- 
pital and boys' school. Usually known as the Char- 
terhouse. 

b. 36. Boileau. See 347. b. 18, note. 
37. says Tickell. Thomas Tickell (1686—1740), 
Addison's friend and elegist, contributed a bio- 
graphical preface to the collective edition of Addi- 
son's works published by Jacob Tonson in 1721. 

411. a. 44. Cibber. In his Apology for the Life of 
Mr. Colley Cibber (1740). 

b. 40. ' heavily in clouds . . . day.' 
Quoted from the opening lines of Cato. 

48. The Distressed Mother. See 342. a, 16, note. 

412. a. I. Bolinghroke. Henry St. John, Viscount 
Bolingbroke, the Tory leader. 

2. Booth. Barton Booth (1681— 1733), who played 
Cato. 

13. Mrs. Porter. An excellent actress who played 
the part of Lucia. 

414. a. 54. Milton against King Charles II. De- 
fense of England against Salmasius, Chap. viii. 

b. I. Oldmixon, John (1653—1742), has a 
prominent place in Pope's Dunciad. 

417. a. 38. Chesterfield. Philip Stanhope, Earl of 
Chesterfield (1694—1773). For Johnson's relations 
with him, see p. 420 and note. 

b. 13. Terence. Ptiblius Terentius Afer, Ro- 
man comic poet of the second century B. C. 

Catullus, Caius Valerius. Brilliant Roman poet, 
contemporary with Julius Caesar. 

418. b. 23. Mandeville, Bernard (1670-1733), au- 
thor of Fable of the Bees. 

419. a. 35. ' above all Greek . . . fame.' Pope, 
To .Augustus, 26. 

44—5. ' turned many to righteousness.' Dan. 
12, 3- 

b. 24. Mille . . . habet. Tibullus 4, 2. 
14. 



LETTERS 

To the . . -. Earl of Chesterfield. Of the oc- 
casion of this famous letter Johnson said to Boswell: 
' Sir, after making great professions, he had, for 
many years, taken no notice of me; but when my 
Dictionary was coming out, he fell a scribbling in 
The World about it. Upon which, I wrote him a 
letter expressed in civil terms, but such as might 
shew him that I did not mind what he said or 
wrote, and that I had done with him.' (Hill's Bos- 
well, I, 301.) 

420. a. 8. the proprietor of The World. Edward 
Moore, an old acquaintance of Johnson's. 

46. The shepherd in Virgil. Eclogue viii, 43, ff- 
58. till I am solitary. Johnson's 'wife had died 
three years before. 

b. 22. Mr. James Macpherson. Johnson had 
publicly declared that the poems of Ossian which 
Macpherson claimed to have translated from the 
Gaelic were forgeries. Macpherson threatened phys- 
ical vengeance and this celebrated letter, Johnson 
said, ' put an end to our correspondence.' 



NOTES 



cix 



THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES 

421. Z7- Wolsey. This passage is largely based on 
the picture of Cardinal Wolsey in Shakspere and 
Fletcher's Henry VIII. 

422. 68. Swedish Charles. Charles XII (1682- 
1 7 18), defeated by Peter the Great, at Pultowa, July 
8, 1709. Killed at Frederikshald, Norway. 



JAMES BOSWELL: THE LIFE OF JOHNSON 

423. a. 3. The accession of George the Third. 
October 25, 1760. 

b. $6. Mr. Thomas Sheridan. The father of 
the dramatist, Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
425. a. 39. Collins. See p. 386. 

428. a. 7—8. Messieurs Thornton, Wilkes, Churchill, 
and Lloyd. Wits of the time all of whom except 
Wilkes had been members, with William Cowper, 
of the Nonsense Club. 

430. a. 57. Colley Cibber. Poet laureate, 1730—57. 
b. 24. Whitehead, William (1715—85). He suc- 
ceeded Cibber as poet laureate. 

41—2. His Ode which begins, etc. The Bard. See 
p. 402. 

432. a. 33. Dr. Goldsmith. See below, p. 463. 
b. 51. Mr. Burke. See below, p. 443. 

54. Mr. Malone. Edmond Malone (1741— 1812), 
the great Shakspere scholar, assisted Boswell in pre- 
paring the Life of Johnson for the press. 

433. a. 35. Nihil quod tetigit, etc. Inaccurate and 
often quoted in this form. Johnson wrote Qui 
nullum ferd scribendi genus non tetigit, nullutn 
quod tetigit won ornavit. [Who left hardly any 
species of writing untouched and touched none that 
he did not adorn it.] 

54. un etourdi, a rattle-head. 
b. 15. Fantoccini, puppets. 

434. a. 3. Mrs. Piossi. Formerly the wife of 
Henry Thrale (d. 1781), one of Johnson's most inti- 
mate friends. She published Anecdotes of Dr. 
Johnson (1786), Letters to and from Dr. Johnson 
(1788). 

Sir John Hawkins. A member of Johnson's 
Club, published a Life in 1787. 

b. 24. Miss Williams. One of the many re- 
cipients of Johnson's eccentric charity. 
436. b. 42. Dr. Adam Smith (1723— 1790). Author 
of The Wealth of Nations. 

438. b. 5. The Old Swan, Swan Stairs. The 
landing here and the walk to Billingsgate beyond 
London Bridge were made in order to avoid the 
risk of ' shooting the bridge.' 

439. b. 27. Turk's Head coffee-house. In the 
Strand. Johnson said, on an fearlier occasion, ' I 
encourage this house, for the mistress of it is a good 
civil woman and has not much business.' See be- 
low, p. 440. 

442. b. 18. Bishop Berkeley's ingenious sophistry. 
In his Principles of Human Knowledge (1710). 



BURKE: SPEECH FOR CONCILIATION 

444. a. 14. Sensible, concrete, such as the senses 
can perceive. 

445. b. 7. Gothic. We should say Teutonic. 



34. Blackstone's Commentaries. The great law 
treatise published (1765-1769) by Sir William 
Blackstone. 

35. General Gage. Governor of Massachusetts, 

1774. 

446. a. I. Abeunt studia, etc. Compare Bacon, 199. 
b. 36, and note. 

with all its imperfections on its head. Hamlet I, 
V. 79- 

447. a. 25. Lord Dunmore. Governor of New 
York, and later of Virginia. 

448. b. 10— II. 'Increase and multiply.' Inaccurate. 
See Gen. i, 22 and 28. 

449. a. II. Spoliatis arma supersunt. Juvenal, Sat. 
viii, 124. 

55. advocates and panegyrists. For example. Dr. 
Johnson in Taxation no Tyranny. 

b. 39—41. ye gods annihilate, etc. This piece 
of bombast has never been traced beyond The Art 
of Sinking Poetry, by Arbuthnot, Swift, and Pope, 
where it is ostensibly quoted. 

450. a. 18. Sir Edward Coke. Public prosecutor in 
1603, when Raleigh was tried. See, also, 326, b. 
26, note, the very same title. Popular election. 

451. a. 19. juridical, abstractly legal. 

b' 37—39' Serbonian bog, etc. Milton, para- 
dise Lost II, 592—4. 

41. such respectable company. Ironical equivoke, 
in allusion to Milton's Satan. 

452. b. 12. the repeal of a Revenue Act, The 
Stamp Act, repealed 1766. 

GIBBON: THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE 
ROMAN EMPIRE 

The extract is from Chapter Ixviii of the De- 
cline and Fall. It presents the first grand culmina- 
tion of Gibbon's massive study, the fall of the east- 
ern empire. The remaining three chapters of the 
last volume deal with the disintegration of the em- 
pire in Italy from the eleventh to the fi.fteenth cen- 
tury. Other striking passages are the accounts of 
Petrarch and of Rienzi, Chapter Ixx, and the 
' Prospect of the Ruins of Rome in the Fifteenth 
Century,' Chapter Ixxi. 

453. b. 3. Phranza. The minister and friend of 
the Emperor Constantine. 

454. a. 57. seven times in one day. Near an hun- 
dred years after the siege of Constantinople, the 
French and English fleets in the Channel were proud 
of firing 300 shot in an engagement of two hours. 
(Gibbon.) 

b. 18. fascines, bundles of sticks. 

455. a. 14. Justiniani, John Justiniani, ' a noble 
Genoese,' was in command of 2,000 ' strangers,' 

30. generosity, spirit. 

455. b. 54. The passions of his soul, etc. I must 
confess that I have before my eyes the living pic- 
ture which Thucydides (i. vii. c. 71) has drawn 
of the passions and gestures of the Athenians in 
a naval engagement in the great harbor of Syracuse. 
(Gibbon.) 

456. b. I. the divan. The Turkish council of 
state. 

457. a. 10—12. the boasted miracle . . . our 
own times. I particularly allude to our own em- 



NOTES 



barkations on the lakes of Canada, in the years 
1776 and 1777, so great in the labor, so fruitless in 
the event. (Gibbon.) 
457. b. 18. Gabours. Unbelievers. 

51. bashaws, dignitaries, here probably generals. 

52. Janizaries. Members of the central standing 
army of the Sultan. 

57. oda, the unit of janizary organization. 

459. a. 22. sanjaks were, formerly, bashaws of the 
rank entitled to wear one horse-tail. 

47. attaballs, oriental tambours. 

460. a. 20. Cantacuzene. Byzantine emperors of 
the fourteenth century. 

50. Chosroes. Khusrau I, a powerful Persian 
king of the sixth century. 

the Chagan, the Khan. The Tartar regal title. 
The reference here is to Jenghiz Khan, who con- 
quered central Asia and threatened Europe early in 
the thirteenth century. 

the caliphs. Successors of Mohammed. 

b. 48. Ducas. A Byzantine historian who was 
an eye witness of the first siege of Constantinople. 
His history was first printed at Paris in 1649. 

461. b. 40. ducats. The ducat, as a money of ac- 
count, was about two dollars and thirty cents. 

462. b. 35. imam. The officiating priest in Mo- 
hammedan worship. 

36. namaz. The canonical prayer of the Mos- 
lems. 

42. the great Constantine. Constantine I (272— 
337) transferred the seat of the Roman Empire in 
the year 330 to Byzantium, which was thereafter 
known as Constantinople. 

GOLDSMITH: THE DESERTED VILLAGE 

464. 39. One only master, etc. The system of en- 
closures is referred to. 

468. 344. wild Altatna. The river Altamaha in 
Georgia, U. S. A. 

469. 418. Torno's cliffs. Lake Tornea in northern 
Sweden. 

Pambamarca's side. A mountain in Ecuador. 

THE RETALIATION 
I. Edmund. Edmund Burke. See p. 443. 
6. Tommy Townshend. Thomas Townshend, Vis- 
count Sidney (1733— 1780), a prominent whig states- 
man. 

15. David Garrick, the actor. See Boswell's 
Johnson, p. 427. 

COWPER: THE TASK 

472. 112. The Sabine bard. Horace, Sat. ii, 6, 65. 
O nodes coenaeque Deum [O nights and supper^ of 
the gods], 

475. 354. Indian fume. Tobacco smoke. 

356. Lethean, oblivious. From Lethe, the river 
of oblivion. 

388. Midas, etc. According to the Greek myth, 
by a grant of Dionysus, whatever he touched turned 
to gold. 

476. 396. Arcadian . . . Maro sings. Virgil in 
his Eclogues. 

397. Sidney. See p. 81. 



453. Tityrus. A shepherd in the first Eclogue of 
Virgil. 

469. Cowley. See p. 183, 

474. Chertsey's silent bowers, A village in Surrey 
not far from London. Here Cowley spent his last 
years. 
477. 511. The Frenchman's darling. Mignonette. 

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PIC- 
TURE 

Written in 1788. Cowper's mother died in 1737. 
when he was little more than six years of age; yet 
fifty years afterward he wrote, ' Not a week passes 
(perhaps I might with equal veracity say a day) 
in which I do not think of her. The picture which 
suggested this poem was sent to him ' out of Nor- 
folk,' by his cousin Anne Bodham. 

ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 

The Royal George was the flagship of Rear-Ad- 
miral Kempenfelt. While being refitted, off Spit- 
head, she heeled and went down with crew and ad- 
miral aboard, Aug. 29, 1782. The poem was prob- 
ably written the same year, though not published un- 
til after Cowper's death. The meter was determined 
by a tune which Cowper had in mind and the poem, 
therefore, must be regarded as a ballad. 

GEORGE CRABBE: THE VILLAGE 

480. 12. Corydons. Conventional shepherds of pas- 
toral poetry, from a character of this name in 
Virgil's Eclogues. 

15. Mincio's banks. See below, 18. Ccesar's 
bounteous reign. The reign of Augustus. 

16. If Tityrus found the Golden Age again, 
Virgil, in his Eclogues, particularly Eclogue IV, 

18. Mantuan song. Mantua, situated on an island 
in the river Mincio, was the home of Virgil. 

481. 27. honest Duck. Possibly Stephen Duck, a 
poor thresher who was patronized by Queen Cato- 
line, wife of George II. He is mentioned by John- 
son in his Life of Savage (Lives, London, 1821, 
Vol. II, p. 149). 

97. Ajax. Homer's ' strong man.' 
484. 303. ' passing rich with forty pounds a year,' 
Goldsmith's Deserted Village, 142. See p. 463. 

330. the moping owl. Compare Gray's Elegy, 10, 
p. 398. 

ROBERT BURNS: MARY MORI SON 
The subject of this song (written in 1781) was 
Ellison Begbie. Burns proposed marriage to her and 
was refused. 

490. 5. bide, await, endure, stoure, dust, struggle. 
13. braw, fine, handsome. 

SONG: MY NANIE, O 
Written in 1782. 

491. I. Lugar, fanciful for Stinchar. 
5. shill, shrill, keen. 

7. plaid, highland shawl or wrap. 

15. gowan, daisy. 

21. penny-fee, wages paid in money. 

23. gear, stuff, wealth. 

25. guidman, master. 



NOTES 



CXI 



SONG: GREEN GROW THE RASHES 
Written in 1783. 
I. rashes, rushes. 

13. cannie, well considered, clever. 
17. douce, solemn. 

19. The wisest man, etc. Solomon. 

LINES TO JOHN LAPRAIK 

Written in 1785. The recipient of the verses was 
a rustic wit and poet of local reputation. When 
they were written Burns was still unknown to the 
world and quite unaware of the greatness of his 
own gift. 

14. horns, probably ink-horns. 

16. sairs, serves. 

17. sliools, shovels. 

18. knappin-hammers. Hammers for breaking 
stone. 

19. hashes, fools, weak-minded persons. 
21. stirks, yearling steers. 

23. syne, afterwards. 

TO A MOUSE 

Written in 1785. 

492. 4. brattle, sudden sound or scamper. 
6. pattle, paddle for scouring the plow. 
13. whyles, at times. 

15. daimen taker, occasional ear. thrave, ' shock.' 
17. lave, remainder. 

21. big, build. 

22. foggage, aftermath. 

34. but, without. 
40. a-gley, awry. 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 

Written in 1785. 

23. ingle, chimney-corner. 
26. kiaugh, worry. 

28. Belyve, soon, directly. 

30. ca, drive. Literally, call. 

31. toun, a farm with its collection of buildings. 

493. 34. braw. See 490. 13. 

35. sair-won, hard-earned. 
38. spiers, inquires. 

40. uncos, news. 

44. Gars, causes, makes. 

48. eydcnt, attentive. 

49. jauk, trifle, ' soldier.' 
62. hafflins, halfway, partly. 
67. cracks, chats, holds forth. 
69. blate, bashful, embarrassed. 

92. halesome parritch, healthful porridge (oat- 
meal). 

93. sowpe, liquid. 

94. hallan', partition. 

96. well-hain'd kebbuck fell, well-saved cheese, 
and ripe. 

494. 99. towtnond, twelve month, lint, flax, bell, 
blossom. 

105. lyart haffets, grayish temples. 
107. wales, chooses. 

Ill— 113. Dundee's, , . . Martyrs, . . , El- 
gin. Sacred melodies. 



133-135- How he, who lone in Patmos, etc. John. 
See Revelation. 

138. Pope's Windsor Forest, 112, is quoted.' 
495. 166. Pope's Essay on Man, iv, 248. 

182. Wallace's undaunted heart. Sir William 
Wallace, one of the chief national heroes of Scot- 
land, maintained a sturdy resistance to England for 
several years at the close of the 13th century, but 
was finally captured and executed at London in 
1305. 

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL 

Written the winter of 1784—5. 

495, 1—2. Imitated from the opening of Pope's Dun- 
ciad. 

2. Clootie. Cloot is hoof. 

S. Spairgcs, splashes, cootie, foot-tub. 

II. skelp, slap. 

15. lowin heugh, flaming cavern (gully). 

17. lag, slow. Compare verb, to lag behind. 

18. blate. See 493. 69, note, scaur, scary, tim- 
orous. 

22. Tirlin, stripping, kirks, churches. 

30. eldritch, uncanny, elvish. 

32. douce, sober, 

35. boortrees, elder bushes. 

38. sklentin, slanting. 

40. lough, lake, pond. 

41, rush-buss, bush of rushes. 
43. neive, fist. 

45. stoor, harsh. 

49. warlocks, wizards. 

50. ragweed nags. Horses fed on ragweed, hence 
neglected, wild. 

54. howket, dug up. 
56. kirn, churn. 

59. dawtet, petted. Twal-pint hawkie, twelve-pint 
white face. The Ayrshire breed of cattle has white 
markings. 

60. yell 's the bill, dry as the bull. 

496. 62. crouse, bold. 

64. cantrip, maliciously magical. 

69. water-kelpies. Malevolent water-spirits in the 
form of black horses. Compare the ' White Horses ' 
of Ibsen's Rosmersholm. 

73. spunkies, will-o-the-wisps. 

91. sneck-drawin, latch-lifting, intruding. 

93. brogue, trick. 

97. biss, bustling hurry. 

98. reeket, smoky, reestet gizs, singed face. 
1 01. the man of Uz. Job. See i, i. 

107. lows' d, let loose, scaul, scold. 

108. ava, of all. 

113. ding, knock, be too much for. Lallan, Low- 
land. Erse (strictly, Irish not Gaelic). 
117. linkin, skipping. 
119. jinkin, dodging. 

123. aiblins, possibly. 

124. hae a stake, have something to gain. 

A BARD'S EPITAPH 
Written in 1786. * 

3. blate, see 493. b. 69, note, snool, snivel, 
cringe. 

S. dool, sorrow. 



cxn 



NOTES 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW 
Written in 1788. 
497. I. airts, quarters, directions. 

3. bonie, winsome. This favorite Scotch word 
combines the ideas of good, good-looking, and good- 
tempered. 

5. row, roll. 

8. my Jean. Jean Armour, Burns's wife. 
14. show, grove, woodland dell. 

GO FETCH TO ME A PINT O' WINE 

Written in 1788. 
2. tassie, goblet. 

4. bonie, see above, 3, note. 

5. Leith, the port of Edinburgh. 

7. Berwick-law. Berwick hill, a landmark to sea- 
men cruising in that region. 

AULD LANG SYNE 
Written in 1788. The phrase auld lang syne ' 
was an ancient one and there were other songs em- 
bodying it, the first line of the poem, and the tune, 
when Burns took them up. His version of the song 
is immeasurably superior to any which preceded it. 

9. pint-stowp, flagon, drinking vessel. 

13. braes, hill-sides. 

14. gowans, see 491. 15, note. 

15. fit, foot. 

17, paidl't i' the burn, dabbled in the brook. 
2I0 fier, comrade, 
23. waught, draught. 

JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO 

Written in 1789. 

I. jo, sweetheart. 

4. brent, straight, steep, firm. 
7, pow, poll, head. 

II. canty, cheerful. 

TAM GLEN 

Written in 1789. 

I. tittie, sister. 

5. braw, handsome, fine. 

6. poortith, poverty, fen', shift. 

9. laird, landlord. 

10. ben, the interior of the house. 

II. siller, money. 

498. 13. minnie, mother, deave, deafen, bother with 
noise. 

17. gin, if (given). 

1 8. marks, silver coins, each worth 26 2-3 cents. 

19. ordain' d, a humorous allusion to the prevalent 
Scotch belief in foreordination. 

22. sten, bounce. 

25. waukin, watching, keeping awake over. 

26. my droukit sark-sleeve. Drenched sleeve of 
my chemise. 

28. breeks, breeches. 

TO MARY IN HEAVEN 
The subject of this poem was Mary Campbell 
and the parting described took place in the spring 
of 1788. Mary died the following autumn and the 
poem was written on the first anniversary of her 
death, after a night of agitated recollection. 



TAM O' SHANTER 



Written in 1790. 
498. I. chapman billies, peddler fellows. 

4. tak the gate, leave town, take the road, go 
home. 

5. nappy, ale. 

6. unco, very. 

7. lang Scots miles. The ancient Scottish mile 
was 1,976 yards. 

8. slaps, openings. 

16. bonie, see 497. a. 3, note. 

19. skellum, scamp. 

20. blellum, ' loud-mouth,' ' blow-hard.' 

23. ilka melder, every grist. 

24. siller, 497. b. 11, note. 

25. ev'ry naig, etc. Every horse that was shod. 
ca'd, driven. 

28. Kirkton, the village near any church, 

30. Doon, a charming little river near Burns's 
birthplace. Compare Bonie Doon, p. 501. 

31. warlocks, see 495. b. 49, note. 
33. gars me greet, makes me grieve. 
39. ingle, see 492. 23, note. 

499. 40. reamin swats, foaming ale. 

41. Souter, cobbler. 

65. like, as. 

81. skelpit, clattered, dub, puddle. 

86. bogles, goblins. 

93. whins, boulders, basaltic rocks, cairn, stone 
heap. 

103. bore, crevice. 

107. tippenny, twopenny ale. 

108. usquebae, whiskey, 
no. o boddle, a copper. 

116. brent-new, brand new. 

117. strathspeys, Scotch dances with a peculiar 
catch in the time. 

119. winnock bunker. Window box, bench. 
121. towsie tyke, touseled cur. 

123. gart them skirl. Made them shriek. 

124. dirl, tingle. 

127. cantraip sleight. Magic trick. Compare 496, 
64 and note. 

131. aims, irons. 

134. gab, mouth. 
500. 147. cleekit, linked. 

148. carlin, fellow, reekit, smoked. 

149. duddies, duds, clothes. 

150. linket at it. Went at it energetically, sark, 
chemise. 

151. queans, wenches. 

153. creeshie, greasy. 

154. seventeen-hunder linen. Very fine linen. 
15s. Thir breeks. These breeches. 

157. hurdies, hips. 

158. burdies, brides, girls. 
160. walie, vigorous. 

162. Car rick shore. 
165. corn, wheat, bear, barley. 
167. cutty sark, short, under-dress. Paisley ham, 
coarse linen. 

170. vauntie, vain. 

172. coft, bought. 

173. twa pund Scots. The pound Scots was one 
1 twelfth of the English pound sterling. 



NOTES 



CXlll 



182. hotch'd, hitched. 
184. tint, lost. 

189. fyke, fuss. 

190. byke, nest. 

191. pussie, the hare. 

196. eldritch. See 495. 30, note. 

197. fairin, reward, a present from the fair. 

209. ettle, intention. 

210. wist, knew. 

WILLIE BREWED A PECK O' MAUT 

Written in 1789. . 

1. Willie, William Nichol, a schoolmaster. 

2. Rob and Allan came to see. Burns and Allan 
Masterton celebrated the occasion by composing this 
song, Masterton contributing the music. 

8. bree, brew. 
14. lift, sky. 

A WINTER NIGHT 

Written in 1786. 

I. Boreas, the north wind, doitre, grim. 
501. 4. lift, see above, 14. 

9. burns, brooks. 

II. bocked, poured with a rush. 

13. winnocks, windows. 

14. ourie, drooping. 

15. brattle, clamor. Compare 492. 4, note. 

17. deep-lairing, foundering. S prattle, sprawl. 

18. scaur, scar, jutting rock. 
23. chittering, shivering. 

HIGHLAND MARY 

Written in 1792. See To Mary in Heaven, 498. 
note. 
• 1. braes. See note to Avid Lang Syne, 497. 13. 

9. birk, birch. 

BONIE DOON 

Written in 1791. There are three versions of this 
poem, of which this is the second and best. 

I. bonie, see 497. 3, note. Doon, see 498. 30, 
note. 

6. bough, pronounced in Scotch fashion this rimes 
perfectly with ' true,' below. 

12. wist, knew. 

19. staw, stole. 



DUNCAN GRAY 

Written in 1792. Like many of Burns's songs of 
this period it is an old Scotch ditty completely trans- 
formed by his rehandling. Of its tune, he wrote, 
' Duncan Gray is a light-horse gallop of an air 
which precludes sentiment.' 

2. o't, of it. 

5. hiegh, high. 

6. asklent, askance, skeigh, skittish. 

7. Gart, made, abiegh, aside, aloof. 

9. fieech'd, flattered. 

II. Ailsa Craig, a small rocky island in the Firth 
of Clyde. 

502. 14. Grat his e'en, etc. Wept his eyes both 
bleared and blind. 

15. lowpin, leaping. Linn, waterfall. 

17. but a tide, That is, they ebb and flow. 

19. sair, sore, hard, bide, bear, endure. 
31. sic, such. 

38. smoor'd, smothered. 

39. crouse, brisk, cantie, cheerful. 

SCOTS WHA HAE 

Written in 1793. In 1314, 100,000 Englishmen 
under Edward II were met on the field of Ban- 
nockburn by Robert Bruce with 30,000 Scots. 
Bruce's force was overwhelmingly victorious. Burns 
' threw into a kind of Scotch ode ' what Bruce 
might be supposed to have said ' on that eventful 
n)orning.' 

I. Wallace. See 495. 182, note. 

23. Liberty's in every blow. By this victory the 
Scotch achieved their independence, 

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT 
Written in 1795. Burns was strongly republican 
in his sentiments. His burning sense of personal 
worth as opposed to the privileges of station are 
best expressed in this piece which he called ' no 
song, but . . . two or three pretty good prose 
throughts put into rime.' 

7. guinea's stamp. That is, merely the statement 
of its value which is intrinsic. 

8. gowd, gold. 

10. hodden-gray, coarse woollen cloth, undyed. 
17. birkie, fine fellow. 

20. coof, stupid lout. 

28. mauna fa' that. Cannot accomplish that. 
36. gree, prize. 



PI 



NOTES 



BEOWULF 
The translation is that of John Earle. 

1. a. 12. ethelings, warriors of noble descent. 

13. Scyld of the Sheaf. The story goes that the 
founder of the Danish royal house was Scyld, who 
as a lone child drifted ashore in a boat, in which 
he had used as a pillow a sheaf of grain. See 
genealogical table below. 

23. trewage, tribute. 



b. 10. Beowulf. This Beowulf, son of Scyld, 
is not the hero of the poem, who was not a Dane, 
but a Great (Goth). The name Beowulf in the 
passage before us is probably formed from that of 
the god Beaw, by contamination. See genealogical 
tables below. 

II. Scedelands, Denmark. 

13. largesses, liberal gifts, 
ii. a. 3. Scyidings, followers of Scyld, i.e., DaneSi 

5. hithe, port, haven. 

15. bills, swords. 



THE DANISH ROYAL FAMILY (SCYLDINGS) 
Scef (or Sceaf) 

Scvld 

Beowulf (not the hero) 

I 
Healfdene 



Heorogar 



Ilrothirar = Wealtheow 



Ilalga Ongentheow(?) = Elan (?) 

Hrothulf (?) 



Hrethric Hrothmund Ingeld == Fi-eawaru 



THE ROYAL FAMILY OF THE GOTHS (GEATS, WEDERAS) 
Swerting 

Hrethel 



Ecgtheow= a daughter 

Beowulf (the hero) 



Herefeeald Htethcyn ? = nygelac=«Hygd 

Eofor = a daughter Heardred 



Onela 



THE ROYAL FAMILY OF THE SWEDES (SCYLFINGS) 
Ongentheow=Elan (?) 



Ohtere 



Eanmund 



Eadgils 



PI 



NOTES 



B 



25. holm, sea. 

43. Healfdene, son of Beowulf the Dane. For 
genealogy, see the table above. 

46-8. Heorogar . . . Hrothgar . . . Halga 
. . . Elan. See genealogical table above. 

49. the warlike Scylfing, Ongentheow. See table 
above. 

57. mead-house, hall for gatherings and for drink- 
ing mead. 

b. 12. Heorot, a name meaning 'hart,' or 
'stag.' The hall was situated on the coast of Den- 
mark. 

43. Grendel. The name may mean 'grinder.' 
mark-ranger, one who dwells on the borders. 

47. Cain's posterity. According to tradition, Cain 
was the ancestor of hateful monsters. See Section 
xix of the text. 

54. eotens, giants. 

iii. a. 23. tholed, suffered, endured. 

24. thanes, followers, retainers. 

45. friend of the Scyldings, Hrothgar. 
b. 23. fanes, temples, shrines. 

24. goblin-queller, killer of monsters. 

53. thane of Hygelac's, Beowulf the hero. Hy- 
gelac was then king of the Goths (Geats), who 
occupied the southern part of what is now Sweden. 
See the genealogical table above. 
Iv. a. 1. wave-traveler, kenning for boat. 

3. swan-road, kenning for sea. gallant king, i.e., 
Hrothgar. 

10. leeds, people, tribes. 

11. fourteen in company, i.e., fifteen including 
Beowulf. 

17. dight, prepared. 

32. IVeder leeds, Goth people. 
34. sarks, shirts of mail. 

h. 3. eorls, noble freemen. The worS indi- 
cates nobility in general rather than definite rank. 

28. Ecgtheow, see genealogical tables above. 
31. worshipful man, man of dignity. 

33, son of Healfdene, Hrothgar. 

50. seethings, boilings. 

51. tholeih, suffers, endures. 

T. a. 12. IVedermark, the home of Beowulf's peo- 
ple in southern Sweden. 

21. farrow, pig, boar, — referring to the ornament 
on the helmet. 

24. hall structure, Heorot. 

b. 2. damasked, ornamented with patterns. 
II. leed of the Wederas, Beowulf. 
20. Wendlas, perhaps Vandals. 

22. Thereanent, in regard to that. 
24. ring-dispenser, kenning for king. 

vl. (^. 2. Hrethel, see genealogical table above. 

29. war-hoards, shields. 
41. byrnie, coat of mail. 

55, insense, inform and incite. 
b. 2. eaten, giant. 

3. nickers, supernatural sea-monsters. 
5. Wederas, Beowulf's people. 

23. mood, mind. 

29. doom,, judgment. 

33. Hrethmen, 'triumph-men,' a name of the Danes. 

26. blood-besprent, sprinkled with blood. 



42. Hild, personification of battle. 

45. Hrethld, Hrethel. See genealogical table. 
Weland, the Vulcan of Germanic mythology. 

46. Wyrd, Destiny, Fate. 

vii. a. 2. banesman of Heatholaf . . . IVyliings. 
Beowulf's father, Ecgtheow, had killed Healtholaf of 
the tribe of Wylfings. 

II. Heorogar. See genealogical table above. 

13. / composed the feud. The Danish king came 
to the aid of Beowulf's father, by settling the feud 
with the Wylfings. 

b. 3. Unferth, spokesman of Hrothgar. 

13. Breca. Concerning this person we know only 
what is here recounted. 

20. meted, measured. 
23. sennight, a week. 

26. Heathoram people, perhaps in southern Nor- 
way. 

29. Brandings, the people of Unferth. 

31. Beanstan's son, Breca. 

32. soothly, truly. 

viii. a. 4. body-sark, coat of mail. 
II. hand-bill, sword. 
34. quietus, final settlement, death. 
52. Finns, whom we call Laplanders. 
b. 3. dree, suffer. 

11. grisly, horrible. 

25. dispenser of ■ufealth, Hrothgar. 

37. sovereign of the East-Danes, Hrothgar. 

41. Helming princess. The Helmings were the 
tribe to which Wealhtheow belonged. 

X. b. 24. weened, thought. 

32. eldritch, hideous, ghastly, weird. 

37. main, strength. 

SI. heirloom, i.e. sword. 
xi. a. 15. warlock, monster. 
b. 3. mere, water, lake. 
10. Hela, goddess of the realm of the dead. 

12. bachelor, young warrior. 

14. jennets, small horses, 

38. Sigemund's exploits. The exploits of Sig- 
mund, son of Waels, are a well-known part of Ger- 
manic heroic tradition. 

See the Nibelungenlied and the Volsunga Saga. 

42. Fitela, Sinfiotli, son of Sigmund. 
so. quelled, killed. 

54. Nathless, nevertheless. 

56. worm, dragon. 

xii. o. II. Heremod, a Danish king, who is here 
cited as a stock example of a bad king, a burden to 
his people. 

13. Eotens, may be the name of a human enemy, 
or, more probably, mere giant monsters. 

33. varlet, candidate for knighthood. 

49. staple, perhaps a platform outside the hall. 

b. 7. bogles, hobgoblins. 
9. erewhile, formerly. 

55. son of Ecglaf, Unferth. 

xiii. a. 46. Hrothulf, probably the son of Hroth- 
gar's brother Halga. See the genealogical table. 
b. 20. Ingwines, a name of the Danes. 
49. brooks, enjoys, experiences. 

57. The somewhat obscure lay of Finn is here 
omitted. 



NOTES 



xlv. a. ig. lady of the Scyldings, Wealtheow. 

41. Hrethric and Hrothmund, see genealogical 
table. 

56. carcanets, circlets of gold and jewels. 

b. 3. necklace of the Brisings, originally the 
famous necklace of the goddess Freyja. 

7. grandson of Swerting, see genealogical table. 

II. feud with the Frisians. A reference to the 
raid of Hygelac into the territory of the Frisians 
about S12 A.D. Hygelac was killed in this expe- 
dition. See p. i. 

24. Brook, use, enjoy, wear. 

28. these boys, Wealhtheow's sons, Hrethric and 
Hrothmund. 

XV. a. 28. beldam, hag. 

29. troll-wife, giantess. 

b. 24. blood-sfirent, blood-sprinkled. 
32. his chief est thane, JEschere; see text, Sec- 
tion XX. 
xvi. a. 13. quell, kill. 

28. mark-stalkers, boundary-stalkers. 
45. rimy, covered with hoar-frost. 
b. 41. crull-maned, curly-maned. 

45. weald, any open country. 

47. warlockf monster. 

S2. scion of Ethelings, Beowulf, 
xvli. a. 57. Hrothgar's orator, Unferth. 
b. II. Ecglaf's son, Unferth. 

37. Hild, personification of battle. 

41. master of the Goths . . . Hrethel's son, 
Hygelac. 

48. damasked, ornamented with patterns. 
xviii. a. 30. carline, old woman. 

46. damascened, ornamented with patterns. 
b. 34. eotenish, fit for an eoten, or giant. 

41. Fetelhilt, 'chain-hilt,' i.e. the sword. 

46. bill, sword. 

xlx. a. 34. gold-friend, Hrothgar. 

XX. a. 42. Scania, used as the name of the Danish 

kingdom. 

b. 17. Heremod, a Danish king, stock example 
of a bad ruler. 

18. descendants of Ecgwela, the Danes. Nothing 
is known of Ecgwela. 

54. corking, vexatious. 
xxl. a. 43. eftsoons, very soon. 

47. eld, old-age. 

b. 12. settle, seat. 
xxil. a. 23. whilom, formerly. 

32. Hrethric, elder son of Hrothgar. 

45. Hrethel, see genealogical table. 
b. 5. gannct, a water bird. 

31. gold-bedight, adorned with gold. 

49. bachelors, young knights. 

xxiii. a. 25. hithe-warden, guard of the harbor. 

40. Consequently, etc. The passage omitted from 
the present text contains as its chief item Beo- 
wulf's account to Hygelac of his encounter with 
Grendel and with Grendel's mother. At the end 
of the omitted passage we are informed of the death 
of Hygelac. 

46. cthel-warden, prince. 

b. 54. intayled, engraved, cut in. 
ZxiT. b. 19. Hre-gleeds, fire-flames. 
XXV. a. 27. Beowulf uttered, etc. The omitted pas- 
sage contains an account of certain of Beowulf's 
former achievements. 

PI 



b. 14. burn, streamlet. 
18. prince of the Storm-Goths, Beowulf. 
39. hoised, raised, 
xxvi. o. 33. Scylthtgs, the reigning Swedish dynasty. 
3!^. Wagmundings, the family to which Beowulf 
and Wiglaf belonged. 

b. 15. mead, a strong fermented drink, con- 
taining honey. 

30. our liege lord behooves, is needful to our 
liege lord. 

37. Me thinketh it, it seems to me. 
xxvii. a. II. gleeds, flames, 
xxviii. b. 25. brook, use, wear. 
xxix. b, 12. escheat, revert to former owners. 

51. Hugas, a name for the Franks. 

53. Netware, the tribe against whom Hygelac 
made the raid in which he was killed. See p. i, 
Introduction. 
XXX. a. 3. the Merwing, i.e., the Frankish king. 

8. Ongentheow slew HcEthcyn, etc. 'Onela and 
Ohthere are sons of Ongentheow, and often raid 
Geatland [i.e. the land of Hygelac and Beowulf]; 
. . . Haethcyn replies with a raid on Swedish 
soil. He seizes Ongentheow's queen. But the old 
king follows the foe, defeats him, and kills 
Hrethcyn, whose men are in desperate case, sur- 
rounded by enemies in Ravenswood. But now 
comes Hygelac with another Geatish army . . ., 
defeats the Swedes, whose queen again is cap- 
tured, and besieges Ongentheow in his citadel. 
Ongentheow is finally killed by Eofor, whose 
brother Wulf has been disabled in fierce fight with 
the desperate old hero. Eofer is then married to 
Hygelac 's daughter.' (Gummere.) See genealogical 
tables above. 

10. ScyHings, Swedes. 
b. ^5. Hygelac' s valiant thane, Eofor. 

53. bestowed upon Eofor his only daughter. See 
genealogical table above. 
xxzli. a. 29. ruck, mess, clutter. 

SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT 

The translation is that of Miss Jessie L. Weston, 
xxxiv. a. II. Romuhis. According to Roman tradi- 
tion, Romulus founded Rome in 753 B. C. 

14. Ticius. The person intended cannot be iden- 
tified with certainty. 

15. Langobard. The Germans who, in 568, 
founded the kingdom of Lombardy in Northern 
Italy were called in Latin, Langobardi. 

16. Felix Brutus, Brutus, the great-grandson of 
MncsiS, the fabled founder of the kingdom of 
Britain. The name Felix may be the invention of 
the writer. 

31. Camelot, a legendary spot in England where 
Arthur is said to have held his court. 

b. 3. carols, dances accompanied by song. 
33, Tars, a name of uncertain identification. 
This place is often mentioned in medival literature 
as famous for silks and tapestries, 
XXIV. a. 28. Agravain d la dure main, Agravain of 
the hard hand. 

b. 19. gauds, ornaments. 

51. hauberk, a part of the armor intended orig- 
inally for the protection of the neck and shoulders. 

52. gorget, a piece of armor protecting the throat. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



A baby's feet, like the seashells pink,. . 906 
A book was writ of late called Tetrach- 

ordon, • • • • • • ^42 

Adam scriveyn, if ever it thee bifalle. . 10 
A gentle knight was pricking on the 

plaine ^^ 

Ah, Ben! I74 

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, ... 802 
Ah for pittie! wil rancke winters rage.. 104 

Ah sunflower, weary of time, 489 

Ah, what avails the sceptered race, 657 

Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing, 137 
Alas, so all things now do hold their 

peace ! 59 

Alas, 't is true I have gone here and 

there IS4 

All service ranks the same with God : . . 786 

All that I know 800 

All the hills and vales along 1023 

All ye that lovely lovers be, j 130 

Along these low pleached lanes, on such 

a day, 9^7 

Although I enter not 672 

Amid my bale I bathe in bliss, 133 

A milk-white Hind, immortal and un- 
changed, 270 

And now 't is time; for their officious 

haste 267 

And the first gray of morning filled the 

east, 840 

And welcome now, great monarch, to 

your own ! 267 

And wilt thou leave me thus ? 55 

An evil Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me 

still, 140 

A povre widwe somdel stope in age .... 12 

Ariel to Miranda. — Take 637 

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a star- 
bright sphere, 906 

'Artemidora! Gods invisible 657 

As I in hoary winter's night stood shiver- 
ing in the snow, 138 

As it fell upon a day 157 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, . . 176 

A slumber did my spirit seal ; 521 

A sonnet is a moment's monument, . . . 873 
As other men, so I myself, do muse . . . 140 
A spirit haunts the years's last hours. . 746 

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay 673 

As there I left the road in May, 667 

As this my carnal robe grows old 170 

As two whose love, first foolish, widen- 
ing scope, 875 

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard 

Grenville lay, 781 

A trouble not of clouds, or weeping rain, 541 
At the midnight in the silence of the 
sleep-time 822 



PAGE 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, 

whose bones 243 

Awake, iEolian lyre, awake, 400 

A year hence may the grass that waves . . 1024 

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 645 

Beauty clear and fair, 169 

Beauty sat bathing in a spring. 157 

Before one drop of angry blood was 

shed 1016 

Before the throne the spirits of the 

slain 1018 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, ... 491 

Behold her, single in the field, 530 

Behold, within the leafy shade, 527 

Be it right or wrong, these men among 

on women do complaine 34 

Blow, blow, thou winter wind ! 156 

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august 658 

Brave infant of Saguntum, clear 163 

Break, break, break, 76/ 

Bright Star of Beauty, on whose eyelids 

sit 139 

Bright star! would I were steadfast as 

thou art 655 

But do not let us quarrel any more, . . . 802 
By this the northerne wagoner had set. . 117 

Calme was the day, and the trembling 

ayre 130 

Captain or colonel, or knight in arms, . . 242 
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable 

Night, 139 

Charm me asleep, and melt me so 173 

Christ God who savest man, save most. 787 

Coldly, sadly descends 857 

Come, cheerful day, part of my life to 

me; 161 

Come, dear children, let us away, 837 

Come, live with me, and be my love, .... 216 

Come, my Celia, let us prove 161 

Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot 

of peace, 88 

Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight. . 180 
Comrades, leave me here a little, while as 

yet 't is early morn : 763 

Cromwell, our chief of men, who 

through a cloud 243 

Crowned, girdled, garbed, and shod with 

light and fire, 915 

Cnddie, for shame! hold up thy heavye 

head 107 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 80 

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, 

though clear, 244 



clxxi 



Dark, dark lay the drifters against the 
red West, 1020 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



PAGE 

Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only 

leave 806 

Dear child of nature, let them rail ! .... 530 
Dear love, for nothing less than thee... 166 
'Dear love, they say thou art at rest...ioi5 
Death, be not proud, though some have 

called thee 167 

Deem not devoid of elegance the sage, . 390 
Deep in the shady sadness of a vale... 649 
Deep on the convent-roof the snow^s. .. . 757 
Does the road vi^ind up-hill all the way? 678 
' Do you remember me ? or are you 

proud ? ' 658 

Drake he 's in his hammock an' a thou- 
sand mile away, looi 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 161 

Duncan Gray came here to woo, 501 

Earth has not anything to show more 

fair: 538 

Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou 

shalt die 875 

England, mother born of seamen, daugh- 
ter fostered of the sea, 907 

Enter these enchanted woods, 961 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! . . 586 
Even such is time, that takes in trust. . 135 

Fair and fair, and twice as fair ; 135 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 173 

Fair Star of evening. Splendor of the 

west, 538 

Fair stood the wind for France, 141 

False Hope prolongs my ever certain 

grief, _ ._ 138 

Farewell to one now silenced quite, .... 994 
Fear death? to feel the fog in my throat 816 

Fear no more the heat o' th' sun, 156 

First I salute this soil of the blessed, 

river and rock 820 

Five years have passed ; five summers, 

with the length 518 

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, .... 7.S9 

Foolish Prater, what do'st thou 183 

Forget not yet the tried intent 55 

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let 

me love ; 166 

For my first twenty years, since yester- 
day, 167 

For those my unbaptized rimes, I75 

Frail creatures are we all ! To be the 

best 566 

From Sterling Castle we had seen 530 

From the bonny bells of heather 948 

From the cool and dark-lipped furrows 1006 
From Tuscan came my lady's worthy 

race; 58 

From you have I been absent in the 

spring, 153 

Full many a glorious morning have I 

seen 151 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 173 



PAGE 

Get up, get up for shame, the blooming 

morn 172 

Give her but a least excuse to love me! 786 

Give place, ye lovers, here before 60 

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet 134 

Go and catch a falling star, 165 

God Lygeus, ever young, 168 

God of our fathers, known of old — ...1005 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 497 

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the 

hill; 852 

Good and great God, can I not think of 

thee, 161 

Go, lovely Rose ! 179 

Gray field of Flanders, grim old battle- 
plain, 1024 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 491 

Grow old along with me ! 813 

Had we but world enough, and time, . . 185 

Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 627 

Happy shepherds, sit and see, 158 

Happy those early days, when 1 185 

Happy ye leaves ! when as those lilly 

hands 123 

Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate 

sings, 156 

Hark ! 't is the twanging horn o'er yon- 
der bridge, 471 

Has summer come without the rose, .... 682 
Having this day my horse, my hand, my 

lance 89 

Hence, all you vain delights, 168 

Hence, loathed melancholy, 237 

Hence, vain deluding joys, 238 

Here, a little child, I stand, 174 

Here in the marshland, past the battered 

bridge, 1014 

Here, where the world is quiet; 898 

Here, where we stood together, we three 

men, loig 

He rises and begins to round, 960 

Her mother died when she was young. . . 47 
' Hey down, a down ! ' did Dian sing, ... 159 
His wage of rest at nightfall still. ... .1014 
Homeward the long ships leap; swift- 
shod with joy, 1008 

How like a winter hath my absence been 153 
How oft, when thou, my music, music 

play'st 155 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest.. 386 
How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot! 486 
How vainly men themselves amaze, .... 184 



I am not One who much or oft delight 537 

I am that which began ; 899 

I arise from dreams of thee .•••;■• "^^ 

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting 

flowers, "20 

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, 749 

I can love both fair and brown 165 

I Catherine am a Douglas born, 864 

I could n't touch a stop and turn a screw, 990 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



clxxiii 



PAGE 

I did but prompt the age to quit their 

clogs , 243 

I drew it from its china tomb ; 679 

If all the world and love were young.. . 216 
If from the public way you turn your 

steps ; 521 

If 1 could trust mine own self with your 

fate, 678 

If I should die, think only this of me: .1012 
' If I were dead, you 'd sometimes say, 

Poor child ! ' 677 

I fled him, down the nights and down the 

days ; 998 

If ought of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 386 
If poisonous minerals, and if that tree. . 167 

If the quick spirits in your eye I77 

If there be any one can take my place 678 

If there were dreams to sell, 667 

If thou wilt ease thine heart 668 

If you 're Volunteer Artist or Athlete, 

or if you defend the Home, 1022 

I hate the dreadful hollow behind the lit- 
tle wood 771 

I have had playmates, I have had com- 
panions, 567 

I know not of what we pondered 678 

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost 166 

I looked and saw your eyes 864 

I met a traveler from an antique land.. 616 
I must down to the seas again, to the 

lonely sea and the sky, 1008 

In a coign of the cliff between lowland 

and highland 901 

In a drear-nighted December, 654 

In Cyprus springs, whereas dame Venus 

dwelt, 59 

Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood ; . . 539 

In my own shire, if I was sad looi 

In the merry month of May, 157 

In the wake of the yellow sunset one 

pale star 1016 

Into these loves, who but for passion 

looks, 139 

In vain to me the smiling mornings shine 397 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 565 

I quite forgot to put the spigot in 1014 

I read, before my eyelids dropped their 

shade, 753 

I said — Then, dearest, since 't is so, ... 800 

I saw Eternity the other night, 185 

I saw the spires of Oxford 1018 

Is it not better at an early hour 658 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 496 

Is there, for honest poverty 502 

I strove with none ; for none was worth 

my strife 659 

I struck the board, and cried, ' No 

more ; I will abroad ! 175 

It befell at Martynmas 45 

It does not hurt. She looked along the 

Knife 915 

It happened once, some men of Italy... 887 
I thought of Thee, my partner and my 

guide, 540 



PAGE 

I thought once how Theocritus had sung 670 
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, 538 

It is an ancient Mariner, 553 

It is not sweet content, be sure, (574 

It is not to be thought of that the Flood. 539 
It keeps eternal whisperings around.... 055 

It little profits that an idle king, 'jidZ 

I traveled among unknown men, 520 

It was a summer evening, 656 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 531 

I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged 

Pile ! 432 

I weep for Adonais — he is dead ! 629 

I will arise and go now, and go to Innis- 

f ree 1005 

I wonder if the old cow died or not. .. .1014 

Jenny kissed me when we mei, 660 

John Anderson my jo, John, 497 

Just for a handful of silver he left us, 790 
Just now the lilac is in bloom 1009 

Keen, fitful gusts are whispering here 

and there 639 

Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, . . 177 

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 242 

Lay a garland on my hearse 169 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 154 
Let others sing of Knights and Paladins 139 

Let 's contend no more. Love, 799 

Let those who are in favor with their 

stars 150 

Let us begin and carry up this corpse, . 807 
Light flows our war of mocking words, 

and yet, 838 

Like as the waves make towards the peb- 
bled shore i ^ 

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, . 14., 
Lo ! I the man, whose muse whylome 

did maske log 

Look in my face ; my name is Might- 
have-been ; 876 

Lord, thou hast given me a cell 174 

Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul 

drew back, 175 

Love built a stately house, where For- 
tune came ; 176 

Love in my bosom like a bee, 159 

' Love seekest not itself to please, 488 

Love, that liveth and reigneth in my 

thought 58 

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my 

love to show, 87 

Low and brown barns thatched and re- 
patched and tattered 1013 

Lucasta, frown, and let me die ! 183 

Many a hearth upon our dark globe sighs 

after many a vanished face 783 

Martial, the things that do attain 61 

Mary! I want a lyre with other strings; 479 

Master of the murmuring courts 862 

May Marigold is frolic, 994 



clxxiv 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Men say, Columbia, we shall hear thy 

guns, 677 

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 244 

Mild is the parting year, and sweet 657 

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this 

hour : 539 

Morpheus, the lively son of deadly Sleep, 88 

Mortality, behold and fear ! 169 

Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes... 541 
Much have I traveled in the realms of 

gold, 639 

Music, when soft voices die, 629 

My eye, descending from the hill, surveys 181 
My galley — charged with forgetfulness. 54 
My good blade carves the casques of men, 758 
My heart acnes, and a drowsy numbness 

pains 647 

My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie 497 

My heart leaps up when I behold 527 

My lov'd, my honored, much respected 

friend ! 492 

My lute, awake, perform the last 55 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the 

sun ; • • • 155 

My mother bore me in the southern wild, 486 
My mother's maids, when they did sew 

and spin, 56 

My mind to me a kingdom is, 134 

My sheep are thoughts, which I both 

guide and serve ; 9o 

My spirit is too weak — mortality 655 

My true-love hath my heart and I have 
his 90 

Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve ! 1014 
No longer mourn for me when I am dead 152 
No more, My Dear, no more these coun- 
sels trv ! 89 

No more shall meads be decked with 

flowers, ^17 

Nobly, nobly, Cape Saint Vincent to the 

Northwest died away ; 79i 

No, my own love of other years ! ... 658 

No. no, go not to Lethe, neither twist. . 648 
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral 



note. 



661 



Not in the crises of events 676 

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments. . 151 
Not mine own fears nor the prophetic 

soul 154 

No ! those days are gone away, 646 

* Nought loves another as itself, 489 

Now the lusty spring is seen ; 168 

Now the storm begins to lower, 403 

Now to those who search the deep — . . .1020 
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow 

room ; 537 



527 
80 



O blithe New-comer ! I have heard, . 

O cruel Love ! on thee I lay 

Of a' the airts the wind can blow 497 

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to 

sing ,••;■■;■■•■ '^'^ 

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 244 



PAGE 

Of old sat Freedom on the heights, . . . 757 
O, for my sake do you with Fortune 

chide, 154 

O for some honest lover's ghost, 179 

Oft do I marvel, whether Delia's eyes. . 138 

Oft, in the stilly night, 659 

O happy dames ! that may embrace 59 

O Heart of hearts, the chalice of love's 

fire, 91S 

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and 

never the twain shall meet, 1002 

Oh, for a closer walk with God, 470 

Oh, Galuppi, Baldassare, this is very sad 

to find ! 799 

O, how much more doth beauty beaute- 
ous seem 151 

Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers. . . 1000 
' Oh, sick I am to see you, will you never 

let me be 1000 

Oh, that those lips had language! Life 

has passed 477 

Oh, to be in England, 791 

Old Adam, the carrion crow 669 

Old Chaucer, like the morning star, 182 

* Old things need not be therefore true,' 674 

O Mary, at thy window be, 490 

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmo- 
nies, 779 

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 156 
O mortal man, who livest here by toil, . . 373 

Once a dream did weave a shade 487 

Once did she hold the gorgeous east in 

f ee ; 538 

On either side the river lie 747 

One more Unfortunate, 662 

O, never say that I was false of heart. . 154 

One word is too often profaned 637 

On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood, 142 
On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen 

hundred ninety-two 816 

On these great waters now I am, 170 

O saw ye not fair Ines ? 662 

Others abide our question. Thou art 

free 837 

O Thou, by nature taught 387 

O thou, whatever title suit thee, 495 

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest 

down 485 

Out of the night that covers me, 995 

Out upon it, I have loved I79 

Out-worn heart, in an out-worn time, .. .1005 
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms ! ... 654 
O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my 

son ? 49 

O where have you been, my long, long, 

love, 48 

O, wild West Wind, thou breath of Au- 
tumn's being, 625 

O Willie brew'd a peck o' maut 500 

O world ! O life ! O time ! 268 

O yes, O yes! If any maid 80 

Passions are likened best to floods and 
streams ^^4 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



clxxv 



PAGE 

Past ruined Ilion Helen lives 657 

Piping down the valleys wild 4^6 

Pitch here the tent, while old horse 

grazes : 953 

Phyllis! why should we delay 17^^ 

Poet who sleepest by this wandering 

wave ! 996 

Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth, 155 
Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds, . 178 

Remember me when I am gone away, . . . 678 
Resteth here, that quick could never rest ; 61 
Restore thy treasure to the golden ore; 138 
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows 

be spread 90 

Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion's 

lofty temples robed in fire, 783 

Rough wind, that meanest loud 638 

Row us out from Desenzano, to your 

Sirmione row ! 783 

' Ruin seize thee, ruthless King ! 402 

Said Abner, ' At last thou art come ! 

Ere I tell, ere thou speak, 791 

Sailor, what of the debt we owe you ? . . 1023 
Say not the struggle nought availeth, . . . 674 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 502 

Seamen three ! What men be ye ? 660 

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 649 
See the chariot at hand here of Love, . . 162 
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the 

green, 59 

Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight... 1019 
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 150 

Shall I, wasting in despair, 169 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways . . . 520 

She fell asleep on Christmas Eve : 860 

She has dancing eyes and ruby lips, .... 676 
She walks — the lady of my delight — 995 

She was a Phantom of delight 531 

Shining pins that dart and click 1022 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, .... 497 
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ! . . . 756 

Silent nymph, with curious eye, 381 

Since brass nor stone, nor earth, nor 

boundless sea 152 

Since there 's no help, come, let us kiss 

and part ! 140 

Sitting by a river's side, 136 

Sleep ! sleep ! Beauty bright, 487 

So all day long the noise of battle rolled 759 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 585 

Soldier, soldier, off to war, 1016 

Some say Love, 137 

Som tyme this world was so stedfast and 

stable • 18 

Souls of Poets dead and gone 646 

St. Agnes' Eve — Ah, bitter chill it was! 640 
Stand close around, ye Stygian set, .... 658 
Stately the feast, and high the cheer : . . 389 
Stella since thou so right a princess art 89 
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God ! . . 533 
Stop, Christian passer-by ! Stop, child of 

God 566 



PAGE 

Strange fits of passion have I known : . . 520 

Strew on her roses, roses 856 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love, .... 709 

Such a starved bank of moss 818 

Sunset and evening star, 784 

Sweet Auburn 1 loveliest village of the 

plain : 463 

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of con- 
tent ; 136 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright. . 175 
Sweet dimness of her loosened hair's 

down-fall \ 874 

Sweet dreams, form a shade 487 

Sweet, serene, sky-like flower, 183 

Swiftly walk over the western wave, . . . 637 

Take, O take those lips away, 156 

Tax not the royal saint with vain ex- 
pense, 540 

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, 182 

That second time they hunted me 789 

That 's my last Duchess painted on the ' 

wall, 786 

That time of year thou mayst in me be- 
hold 152 

That which her slender waist confined, . . 178 
The awful shadow of some unseen Power 615 

The blessed damozel leaned out 860 

The changing guests, each in a different 

mood, 875 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 398 

The day is dark and the night 863 

The feathered songster chaunticleer 390 

The forward violet thus did I chide 153 

The frost performs its secret ministry, . 565 
The harp that once through Tara's halls. 6('^ 
The hour which might have been, yet 

might not be 874 

The inhabitants of old Jerusalem 268 

The king sits in Dumf erling toune .... 49 

The Lady Poverty was fair : 995 

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, .... 178 
The long love that in my thought I har- 
bor, 54 

The lost days of my life until to-day, . . 876 

The merry World did on a day 175 

The Meuse and Marne have little waves ; 1023 

The mountain sheep are sweeter 660 

The naked earth is warm with Spring. .1015 

The night I left my father said : 1014 

The nightingale, as soon as April bring- 

eth 90 

The old brown thorn trees break in two 

high over Cummen Strand, 1006 

The pale stars are gone! 616 

The play is done — the curtain drops, , . 672 
The poet in a golden clime was born, . . 746 
The primrwose in the sheade do blow, . . 667 
The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, .... 767 
There 's a breathless hush in the Close 

tonight — * 1002 

There 's a sea that lies uncharted far be- 
yond the setting sun 1017 



clxxvi 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



PAGE 

There is delight in singing, though none 

hear 658 

There lived a wife at Usher's Well..... 47 
' There ! ' said a stripling, pointing with 

meet pride S4i 

There they are," my fifty men and women 808 
There was a roaring in the wind all 

night ; 528 

There was a time when meadow, grove, 

and stream, 534 

There was three ladies playd at the ba, . 52 

There was twa sisters in a bowr 51 

These, as they change. Almighty Father, 

these 372 

The soote season that bud and bloom 

forth brings 58 

The sun hath twice brought forth his 

tender green 60 

The sun is warm, the sky is clear, . . . 616 
The Village Life, and every care that 

reigns 480 

The wild winds weep, 486 

The wind blows out of the gates of the 

day, 1006 

The woods decay, the woods decay and 

fall, ...778 

The world comes to an end : her city 

hives 994 

The world is too much with us : late and 

soon, 540 

The world's great age begins anew 636 

The wrathful Winter, 'proaching on 

apace, 6^ 

They are all gone into the world of light ! 186 
They dreamt not of a perishable home. . 541 

The year 's at the spring 786 

They whisted all, with fixed face attent, 61 
Think no more, lad; laugh, be jolly: .. .1001 
Think thou and act; to-morrow thou 

shalt die 875 

This little vault, this narrow room 177 

This is the Chapel : here, my son, 1002 

This relative of mine 675 

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and 

white, '. 160 

Thou canst not die, whilst any zeal 

abound I39 

Though each may feel increases and de- 
cays 356 

Though I be now a gray, gray friar, ... 661 
Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray, . . 498 
Thou lovely and beloved, thou my love ; 874 
Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle ! 390 
Thou Permanence amid all things that 

pass! 1022 

Thou shalt have one God only ; who 674 

Thou still unravished bride of quietness, 647 
Three years she grew in sun and shower, 520 
Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter 

went, 878 

Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train, . . 178 

Tiger ! Tiger f burning bright 488 

Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy 
Sleep! 377 



PAGE 

'T is hard to say, if greater want of skill 350 
'T is the middle of night by the castle 

clock, 560 

To draw no envy, Shakspere, on thy 

name, 162 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 389 

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 153 
To sea, to sea ! The calm is o'er ; .... 668 
Toussaint, the most unhappy man of 

men ! ; 538 

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain, 675 
To you, my purse, and to none other 

wight 18 

True Thomas lay oer yond grassy bank, 50 
'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 274 

Turn back, you wanton flyer 160 

Two souls diverse out of our human 

sight 915 

Two Voices are there ; one is of the sea, 540 
Two years ago I taught him Greek, ...1021 
Tyre of the farther West! be thou too 

warned 661 

Underneath this sable hearse 172 

Under the greenwood tree 156 

Under the wide and starry sky 928 

Under yonder beech-tree single on the 

greensward 949 

Unstable dream, according to the place,. 54 
Upon the flowery forefront of the year, 903 
Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 531 

Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent, . . 539 
Very old are the woods : 1007 

Wake : the silver dusk returning 1000 

Watch thou and fear ; tomorrow thou 

shalt die 875 

We are the music makers, 682 

Weary of myself, and sick of asking.. .. 840 

We cannot kindle when we will 840 

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, . . . 169 
Weep not my wanton smile upon my 

knee 136 

Weep with me all you that read 162 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, . . . 492 
Welcome, old friend ! These many years 658 

Well then ! I now do plainly see 183 

We look for her that sunlike stood 956 

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote 4 
'What are the bugles blowin' for?' said 

Files-on-Parade 1004 

What bird so sings, yet so does wail? ... 80 
What dire offense from amorous causes 

springs, 358 

Whate'er I be, old England is my dam ! . 954 

What have I done for you 995 

What if a day, or a month, or a year, . . 160 
What needs my Shakspere for his hon- 
ored bones ^3^ 

What pleasure have great princes I59 

What potions have I drunk of Siren 

tears ^54 

What shepherd can express i58 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



clxxvii 



PAGE 

What was he doing, the great god Pan, . b/o 
Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea lig- 

gin' 'ere aloan ? 779 

When as in silks my Julia goes 173 

When biting Boreas, fell and doure, . . 500 
When chapman billies leave the street, . 498 
When do I see thee most, beloved one? 874 

When God at first made man, 176 

When I am dead, my dearest 677 

When I am living in the midlands, 1006 

When icicles hang by the wall, 155 

When I consider every thing that grows. 150 
When I consider how my light is spent. . 243 
When I do count the clock that tells the 

time, 150 

When I have borne in memory what has 

tamed 539 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 655 
When I have seen by Time's fell hand 

defaced 152 

When I made answer, I began : ' Alas ! 861 
When in disgrace with fortune and 

men's eyes 150 

When in the chronicle of wasted time. . 153 
When lovely woman stoops to folly, .... 463 
When Love with unconfined wings.... 182 
When Music, heav'nly maid, was young, 387 
When Nature made her chief work, Stel- 
la's eyes, 87 

When Robin Hood and Little John 41 

When shawes beene sheene, and shradds 

full f ayre 38 

When the lamp is shattered 638 

When there was heard no more the war's 

loud sound loi i 

When the voices of children are heard 

on the green 489 

When thin-strewn memory I look 

through, 1007 

When to the sessions of sweet silent 

thought 151 

When vain desire at last and vain regret 876 
When we fought the campaigns (in the 

long Christmas rains ) 1019 

When we were girl and boy together, . . 668 
Where lies the land to which the ship 

would go ? 674 

Where the quiet-colored end of evening 

smiles 797 

Whether on Ida's shady brow, 486 



PAGE 

Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize 

thee, 140 

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not 

harm 167 

Who is it that this dark night 89 

Who is Silvia? what is shgj 155 

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he 533 

Why, having won her, do I woo ? 676 

Why is my verse so barren of new pride, 152 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 179 

Wild v/ind, and drear, beneath the pale 

stars blowing 1015 

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, 168 
With arrows on their quarters and with 

numbers on their hoofs, 1021 

With blackest moss the flower-plots . . . 745 

With fingers weary and worn 663 

With how sad steps, O moon, thou 

climb'st the skies ! 88 

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for 

her children 1012 

Would'st thou hear what man can say. . . 162 
Would that the structure brave, the mani- 
fold music I build, 811 

Would you know what's soft? I dare. . 177 



Years — years ago, ere yet my dreams. . . 664 
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 501 
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, . . . 397 

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, 501 

Ye mariners of England 659 

Yes, he is gone, there is the message, 

see ! 1013 

Yet once more, O ye laurels and once 

more, 240 

Ye wearied sisters, which have often- 
times 125 

You ask me why, though ill at ease, .... 757 

You brave heroic minds, 140 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon ; 788 
Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, 802 
Your hands lie open in the long fresh 

grass, _. 874 

Your words, my friend, right healthful 

caustics, blame 88 

You tell me you 're promised a lover, . . 665 
You that do search for every purling 

spring 88 

Yt f elle abowght the Lamasse tyde 42 



LB D 7b 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




013 562 535 8 



'{'■'', ■'■'*\'ll'\ 
.... , '..' I 



